


Minuet On a Heartstring

by Laikin394



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Developing Relationship, First Time, M/M, May be viewed as dub-con, VictUuri, Victuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-10-11 02:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10452639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laikin394/pseuds/Laikin394
Summary: “I’m going back to Saint Petersburg tomorrow,” he says slowly. Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath, feeling like someone has just punched him in the stomach.“Last year may have been the best one yet.”Despite the sweetness of the words, Yuuri hates them. It sounds like a farewell, a mundane parting to put an end to everything. He tries to swallow the lump at the base of his throat, but his mouth is too dry. The paper ticket in his fist anchors him, yet it doesn’t diminish the pang of hurt when Victor not even once looks back at him.AKA Victor and Yuuri never discuss their relationship after GPF. Yuuri is the one chasing Victor all the way back to St.Petersburg.





	1. A Ticket

“Yuuri,” Victor calls his name, peeking from behind the door to his room. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yeh-yeah. Sure.”

Victor’s room is a mess, he notices, sliding the door shut behind himself. The clothes are dumped onto the bed, the drawers of the nightstands gaping open. Makkachin is happily chewing on a slipper on the floor, flicking his head from side to side to get a better angle for biting. It looks like a small tornado has passed in here; even Victor’s hair is ruffled, part of it sticking up as if he ran his fingers through it repeatedly and never bothered to comb it back down.

“What is it?” Yuri asks tentatively when Victor is quiet for too long and the silence gets uncomfortable. He shifts from foot to foot. Victor is studying his face gravely, his expression unreadable.

“I’m going back to Saint Petersburg tomorrow,” he says slowly. Yuuri sucks in a sharp breath, feeling like someone has just punched him in the stomach. Why would Victor decide to leave so suddenly? The state of the room makes sense now. He’s already begun packing, calling him in just now to say goodbye.

“That is why I want you to have this.”

Victor reaches into the pocket of his robe, pulling out a slim red and white envelope. Yuuri accepts it in an instinct, crunching it. The glossy paper immediately sticks to his sweaty palms. He looks at it sheepishly and it takes Yuuri a moment to process what exactly he’s holding. His mouth falls open is a silent surprised “oh.” The cold hand that was clenching his heart a moment ago disappears and he raises his eyes back at Victor, feeling the joy bubble up within.

“Victor, is it…” he lacks words so he just grins stupidly, eyes a little moist.

“Yes.” Victor still looks serious, but the lines around his eyes soften up a bit. “It’s an open date ticket.”

“But of course I’ll…” Yuuri’s eyebrows go up in surprise, when he’s cut short. Victor’s finger presses to his lips, calling for silence.

“Shh,” he prompts softly. “Yuuri, I don’t want you to make any promises.”

“B-but…” Victor’s palm slides over Yuuri’s mouth, this time making sure he doesn’t speak at all.

“I want you to think about it when I’m gone.” Yuuri’s eyes widen in protest. He doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t _need_ to. He’ll follow Victor wherever he has to go and he can’t understand why Victor has to be so dramatic about it.

“This is a big step and I want that decision to be your own. Regardless of what I say or think, you are not obliged to do anything. You understand?” Victor says insistently, eyes narrowing. All Yuuri can do is give him a quick nod. “Good,” Victors says gloomily and takes his hand away from his mouth. He doesn’t smile, as he usually would when coaxing Yuuri to do something he wants, which makes Yuuri bite his tongue and hold back a _”yes”_ he was about to shout. He feels a little bit lost and Victor must sense that.

“I’m gonna miss you terribly,” he says in a confiding whisper, hooking his fingers under Yuuri’s chin and stroking his cheek with his thumb. “My irresistible little katsudon,” he adds jokingly but the smile never reaches his eyes. 

Yuuri doesn’t like the nervous tug in the pit of his stomach at Victor’s words. He can’t quite grip that emotion in Victor’s face and he can’t understand why he behaves that way. He has just invited him over, and of course he knows what his answer will be. This sadness and uneasiness shouldn’t even exist.

“V-victor,” Yuuri begins, uncertain what to say to make it alright. Victor sighs and shakes his head.

“It’s nothing. Just keep your head clear and don’t rush into anything, okay?”

“I’ll try, I guess.”

“Good, good.” Victor chatters and dry lips firmly press to the corner of Yuuri’s mouth for a brief moment. He doesn’t linger and turns away quickly, clearing his throat. “Now, I-uh need to pack all of this. Makka, no!”

Victor wins that fight, yanking the slipper from the growling dog and Yuuri chuckles, some of the tension leaving him. He’s sad but not crushed, his mind already trying to pick the best date for a visit.

“I’ll miss you too,” he mutters, hugging Victor from behind and hiding his face between his shoulder blades in the softness of his robe. He wants to reassure Victor they’ll see each other soon but he doesn’t want to make it appear like he disregarded his promise to think about the ticket he got.

“When is your flight?” Yuuri asks, reluctant to let go of Victor. He feels tense in his arms, so Yuuri loosens his grip to avoid squeezing Victor too hard.

“I should leave at two a.m.”

“So soon?”

“Yes. Yakov insisted I return this weekend. He wants to start my training for the nationals as soon as practicable. To Yakov that means starting tomorrow.”

Victor doesn’t sound particularly happy about the prospect but he’s not bitter about it either. His voice is flat; he just gives Yuuri facts, letting him decide what to think. They stand together in silence until it gets awkward.

“Do you… um... want me to call you a taxi?” Yuuri suggests. Victor gives him a soft “yes, please.” However, he declines an offer to see him off.

“I don’t want it to be more complicated,” he explains. “If you come, I won’t be able to let go.” He gently pries Yuuri’s hands off, placing a quick kiss on the curled fingers that hold the ticket.

“Last year may have been the best one yet.”

Despite the sweetness of the words, Yuuri hates them. It sounds like a farewell, a mundane parting to put an end to everything. He tries to swallow the lump at the base of his throat, but his mouth is too dry. The paper ticket in his fist anchors him, yet it doesn’t diminish the pang of hurt when Victor not even once looks back at him. Yuuri stutters through his wishes of a good trip and leaves him alone to pack.

He doesn’t sleep well that night; in fact, Yuuri contemplated not going to bed at all. He feels caged and restless, pacing his room, both angry and immensely sad. In a way, he could justify Victor’s reluctance to give him an earlier warning. It would just stretch out the misery, making him fidget and probably bring him to tears more than once. But at the same time Yuuri can’t help feeling betrayed. It’s not like Victor needs guidance, but it would be nice of him to at least ask for Yuuri’s opinion before flying off. They didn’t really discuss the future and whether Victor can combine being trained and still holding the position of a coach. It’s almost like he’s running away and the nag of doubt tugs on Yuuri’s heart.

The ticket is for a one-way trip. Considering the speech on decisions which came with it, the ticket is not meant for a casual visit. Yuuri is pretty certain it was an invitation to live together, but what if that’s not what Victor wants? The ticket could be a token of gratitude, a non-binding acknowledgement of their relationship. What if by asking Yuuri to think about coming to Russia Victor signified his own lack of desire to make that choice?

Yuuri takes his glasses off and rubs his temples. All these doubts and once-buried insecurities raise their heads and claw at his chest, resulting in a throbbing ache deep in his skull. He sighs and curls in bed, double-checking if he set his alarm for the correct time.

He does fall asleep eventually, after a considerable amount of tossing and turning. He springs back up sometime later, scrambling to check the time on his phone. His eyes water at the painful brightness of his phone, but it helps combat the grogginess. There’re still a couple minutes left before 2 o’clock, so he turns off the alarm. The house is quiet and dark. Surprisingly, even the lights in Victor’s room are off. Yuuri nervously steps into it and flips on the switch of the bedside lamp. The room is completely empty aside from the green robe on the made-up bed.

Something rustles under his foot and he bends down to pick up a piece of paper. He examines it, and discovers it’s a note. He squints and holds it close to his face, adjusting his eyes to focus on the writing.

_“Yuuri,_  
_The driver came early and I didn’t have the heart to disturb your sleep. Give your family my cordial regards._  
_Thank you for everything._  
_Love, V.”_

Yuuri grits his teeth hard and his hands begin to shake. He tears the note in anger. Didn’t have the heart to wake him up, but apparently had no problem abandoning him without a word? He looks at the uneven pieces of paper in his hand, picking through them and allowing the rest drop onto the floor until only two pieces are left. He places the ragged piece with his name over the other one with Victor’s signature on the pillow, stroking the sharp angles of the letter’s V. 

Yuuri wants to text Victor something like “How could you leave me?” or even worse, “Screw your cordial wishes,” – but he deems it too childish.

He crawls into bed, nesting his head on the other pillow. He pulls Victor’s robe into his arms and then buries his face in it, inhaling deeply. There’s a faint smell of Victor’s cologne, which calms him. Yuuri takes another breath, relaxing into the soft sheets, until he falls asleep, still hugging the robe.


	2. Arrival

The preparation for departure takes longer than he expected, something always coming up a couple days before he plans to leave. Yuuri is surprised how well his family takes the news of him flying away for an undetermined period of time. He imagined his parents getting upset, especially since the business went up with all the publicity they got last year, but they just nodded and gave him their blessings. Mari, of course, was a bit more spiteful about it, snorting at his apology and waiving her hand dismissively when he tried to explain himself. She bitterly informed him that she should at least be thankful for not having to suffer through hearing Victor’s name on a daily basis. Yet she hugged him back with so much force and emotion that Yuuri felt she would not hold any grudges.

The further Yuuri got from home, the giddier he felt. The dread overpowered anticipation, making him weak in the knees. He kept discretely rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants and couldn’t form a coherent answer to give to the customs officer as to the purpose of his visit. Did he come to Russia to pursue his ambitions to win the gold, or was it him chasing his dreams, still half-formed around Victor? Once he wanted to be him, but then his desire evolved into something which appeared to be more achievable, yet remained elusive. When Victor asked him what he should be to him, Yuuri struggled to find an answer because the words – the trivial labels Victor listed – only scraped the surface of what Yuuri felt. This separation didn’t feel right and no calls or messages could compensate for a mere chance of bumping into Victor in the corridor in the morning.

The last two months Yuuri ate, walked and slept with his phone in his hand, obsessively refreshing his Instagram feed. He longed to see Victor’s face but also was afraid to find evidence of him being happy. Logically Yuuri accepted returning home would please Victor, but he feared that seeing him smiling in a picture the same way he did in Hasetsu – or even before coming to Hasetsu – would crush him.

“Mister?” the custom’s officer says, not trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. Yuuri realizes he missed the question addressed to him and meekly asks the officer to repeat it.

“The purpose of your visit?”

“Oh. Yes. Um… I’m coming to see a friend.”

“How long do you intend to stay?”

“A… a month.”

“You have your return ticket, yes?”

“No, I haven’t bought it.”

The officer purses his lips.

“If you want to stay more than six months – you get a visa. You want to work – you get a visa. Understand?”

“Yes.”

Yuuri nods enthusiastically, feeling like his neck may snap from all the effort. His passport is finally stamped and he proceeds to the exit, wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead.

He looks around the small crowd, trying to spot the familiar mustard coat and the mop of silver hair. He can’t find Victor. It’s unlikely that Victor would hide behind someone’s back, of course, being too tall to do so even if he tried. Yuuri walks behind the people standing along the metal railing of the arrivals gate, but no one holds even a slight resemblance to Victor.

Yuuri fishes his phone out of his pocket, but it shows that there is no signal. He restarts it, which doesn’t help a bit, and decides to walk out of the airport, hoping to get some kind of signal outdoors. The sliding doors let him out and the crispness of the frosty air makes his nose prickle. Yuuri pulls the scarf over the lower part of his face, hiding from the biting cold. He fumbles with his phone, turning it off and back on again, until finally a text message arrives, congratulating him on connecting to the Vodafone network. Following that one, Yuuri receives a barrage of texts for a dozen missed calls from Victor – and social network notifications he doesn’t bother to look at. He dials Victor, but the phone just keeps ringing until the call ends after the tenth long beep. Getting more uneasy with each second, Yuuri calls again.

“Yuuri!” Victor’s voice pierces his ear and he scowls, jerking his hand with the phone away. “Where are you? I couldn’t make it to the airport, Yakov is just… Did he find you?”

“Who, Yakov?” Yuuri asks. Victor chuckles.

“No, Gosha. I asked him to pick you up. Look, I’m really, really sorry I couldn’t do it myself, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. How are you?” Victor chatters away happily, allowing Yuuri a chance to say anything in return. “I wanna see you so badly. Gosh. It’s been so long. I miss you, you know,” he adds in a whisper accompanied by shouting in the background. Victor groans into the phone. “Yakov is playing tough again. So where are you exactly?”

“Um… right at the entrance to the arrivals.”

“Good, good. Stay there, Gosha will pick you up! I’ll talk to you real soon, okay?”

Victors hangs up before Yuuri mutters a “yeah” in response. He imagined it all differently. Even though he knows Victor’s world doesn’t spin around him, he hoped to meet at the arrivals gate. Yuuri shifts from foot to foot, trying not to sulk. Well, at least he hasn’t forgotten about him. Victor cared enough to make arrangements to get him to the city after all.

A dark-blue Bentley drives past but Yuuri doesn’t pay it much mind. The driver honks at him and he blinks in surprise. There is another honk, a longer one, and then the window at the driver’s seat rolls down to reveal Georgiy. His hair is combed to stand on end, just as during his performances.

“Hallo,” he calls cheerfully and points at Yuuri’s suitcase. “All that you brought?”

“Hi, Georgiy. Yeah, I didn’t pack much.”

Georgiy doesn’t let him shove the luggage in the trunk of the car, suggesting he do it himself. Yuuri sighs contently, as the heat from the seat soaks through his coat.

“You object?” Georgiy asks, simultaneously lighting the cigarette. Yuuri does mind, in fact, but he says nothing to avoid being rude.

“Thanks for, uh, picking me up.”

“No problem.”

“So, how are things?”

“He proposed,” Georgiy informs him in a dead voice. Yuuri’s stomach turns.

“Victor… proposed?” he asks in disbelief. Georgiy turns his head to give him a reproaching glare.

“No, no. That idiot Anya’s dating proposed to her! I saw it on Instagram. I’ll show you.”

“Mmm let’s not do that when driving,” Yuuri suggests when Georgiy props the wheel with his knee, cigarette in one hand and the other one reaching into his pocket.

“That is not a diamond,” Georgiy scoffs, thrusting the phone into Yuuri’s face. “I could buy her a better ring.”

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees carefully, having no idea who that Anya is. “I’m sorry it happened.”

“Thanks, dude.”

The cigarette butt is flicked out of the window and they stay silent for the rest of the drive. Georgiy doesn’t seem to be a bad guy, but Yuuri feels uncomfortable around him, especially when trying to grasp the meaning of his words. His accent is so much thicker than Victor’s and Yuuri wonders if it would be equally difficult to understand other people he’ll come across.

Georgiy parks in front of a large building, shutting the engine off. It looks imposing due to the size but still bleak with ashy walls.

“Come up.” Georgiy urges Yuuri on when his climb on the endless marble staircase is too slow for his liking. There is a labyrinth of corridors but he finally stops, pushing the door open and letting Yuuri enter first.

The rink is gloriously large and full of light. Yuuri is instantly drawn to a slim figure spinning in the center of it. Victor must have caught them entering because he breaks the spin, flapping his arms in the air to regain his balance. Yakov shouts something at him across the rink, but Victor hurries away, approaching them at a frightening speed. He bumps into the railing with a thud, almost tripping over it.

“Yuuri,” he says, choking, short of breath either from emotion or the intensity of his practice. Most likely the latter, Yuuri thinks, as sweat is pouring from Victor’s face and hair, little drops adding to the wet streaks on the shirt around his neck.

“Why you never greet me with so enthusiasm,” Georgiy complains, but Victor doesn’t spare him a glance.

Victor looks thinner than Yuuri remembers. He notices the dark circles under his eyes and the lines around his mouth that have become more prominent. Yet, he still looks beautiful and Yuuri loses the ability to draw in a full breath, his chest squeezed by a warm ache. He wants to touch him but he doesn’t dare, feeling like he’s daydreaming.

“Thank you, Gosha, for taking time after your training to come pick Yuuri from the airport.” The mocking, high pitched voice breaks the spell and Victor clicks his tongue.

“Thank you, Gosha.”

“See. Not difficult.”

“What are you doing here?” Yakov booms, skating to them rather elegantly for his body size. “You!” He points his index finger at the intruders. “Get out! Vitya, back to your practice, today is the sloppiest I remember you. You shame me.”

Victor rolls his eyes, otherwise not affected by the remark.

“He likes pulling my leash ever since he agreed to take me back,” Victor sighs. “I’m sorry it has to be like this, but Yakov prohibits anyone to be present during my training.”

Victor reaches out to him, the gloved hand briefly squeezes Yuuri’s shoulder.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” he offers apologetically. Yuuri nods. “Can you two wait for me in the cafeteria? I have not more than half an hour left, I promise.”

“Vitya!” Yakov shouts, reinforcing the call with a muttered sentence that turns Victor’s ears pink and makes Georgiy snort.

Victor reluctantly lets go of Yuuri’s hand, skating backwards to the middle of the rink and not breaking eye contact.

“Go.”

The cafeteria is small and deserted with not even a waitress or the owner of place to be seen.

“Eat,” Georgiy orders, placing a saucer in front of Yuri. It’s an open-faced sandwich if you’d call it that – two round pieces of salami on white bread, overlapping each other. Yuuri takes a careful bite, surprised to find the bread a bit soggy from the butter spread on top of it. It’s an unusual combination, but he doesn’t want to be rude and leave the sandwich half-eaten.

Georgiy lights another cigarette and the bitter smoke tickles the back of Yuuri’s throat, encouraging him to gulp down the cold lemonade.

“So, where you stay?”

“Um… At Victor’s I think,” Yuuri replies cautiously, uncertain if that is something he should be sharing.

“Oh? But he has one-room flat, no?” Georgiy narrows his eyes and Yuuri fidgets, picking his finger until he draws a little blood from pulling on his hangnail.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You like… together?”

“What?”

“I don’t care if so.” Georgiy raises his hands defensively. “I knew Victor is as blue as the sky.”

“I don’t understa…”

Yuuri’s chair is shoved so hard from behind that the motion sends him flying face down. Luckily, he is able to instinctively break the fall by smacking his hand on the table top. His glasses slide to the tip of his nose but also remain intact.

“Zhorik is trying to say that even his limited mental capacity allowed him to recognize Victor as a faggot.”

“Why, Yurka, not only _him_ ,” Georgiy replies sweetly, blowing the smoke right into Yurio’s face and easily dodging a slap meant for his cheek.

“Are we playing frenemies again?” Yuuri sighs, trying to stay calm although his hands curl into fists so hard that his short nails dig painfully into his palms. “Being rude does not give you bonus points.”

“Pfft. Suck a dick, fatso,” Yurio spits out.

Georgiy says something to him in Russian, which makes the boy beet-red in the face. He lunges at his offender but Georgiy is quicker, grabbing Yurio’s arm and twisting it behind his back until he gets an angry cry out of him.

“Yura! Opyat’!” Yakov shouts, entering the cafeteria as if that man had a trouble sensor. He chides them both in flowing Russian until Yurio is released. He doesn’t give up easily though and kicks Georgiy in the shin. Yurio gets a smack on the back of the head in exchange, which makes Yakov erupt in another angry tirade.

“Let’s go.” Yuuri’s sleeve is pulled softly as Victor tries to get his attention. “They can bicker for hours and I honestly don’t feel like reconciling them.”

Victor leads them back to the car Yuuri arrived in.

“Is it yours?” Yuuri asks fastening the seatbelt. It’s a silly question. Finding out who owns the vehicle is nowhere on his priority list, but at least that’s a conversation starter.

“Yeah. You like it? I have another one just like that but in pink,” Victor replies. Yuuri can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Oh come on, did Gosha smoke in here?”

Victor scrunches his nose up and rolls down the window. He turns to Yuuri and just stares at him, letting the wind ruffle his hair. His lips gradually stretch into a grin.

“W-why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why not?” Victor retorts. “It makes me happy.”

He reaches over to cover Yuuri’s hand, fingers sliding and intertwining with Yuuri’s. Victor gives his hand a squeeze, eyes still bright, and Yuuri returns it.

“Let’s go home. You must be so tried.”

Victor starts the car, looking behind to check for traffic and smoothly drives out to the middle of the road before taking the right side. He pushes on the gas harder, making the engine purr, his hand effortlessly steering the wheel.

It is at that moment that Yuuri realizes what it wrong – Victor’s hand on the wheel of the car is completely bare. The ring is not there. Moreover, there’s not even a dent on his finger, any mark that could suggest he took it off recently. Yuuri turns away, swallowing hard. He watches the blurry shapes of cars fly by, his mind blank. Victor to his left is humming, which makes him feel only worse. 

Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek hard, relaxing only when he tastes the metal tinge of blood on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Gosha and Zhora/Zhorik are just forms of the name Georgiy. ~~Он же Гоша, он же Гога, он же Жора~~.  
>  2\. Russians refer to gay men as “blue”, so to call someone “super gay” you’d compare their “blueness” to the sky. Of course, the colloquial phrase makes no sense to Yuuri on direct translation.


	3. Home

Makkachin jumps on him immediately, tail hitting his sides with a hail of enthusiastic thuds and front paws clawing at Yuuri's jeans. He whines, not being able to reach Yuuri's face and licks his hands, and dances on his hind legs in attempt to get higher up.

"He's never that happy to see me," Victor remarks a bit grumpily, turning the key in the lock. "However, this time his feelings are justified... I'd relate to them myself."

"Would you?" Yuuri asks, flatly, and Victor chuckles.

"I'm afraid I missed the chance to perform the happy dance, my bad."

Victor hugs him from behind, pressing his cheek to Yuuri's face and he involuntarily leans back, relaxing into the embrace. He wishes to believe that Victor was happy to see him, but the little things – from how abruptly Victor left to the missing ring - break the perfect picture, poisoning him with doubts.

They just freeze in that moment, Yuuri standing there with his arms limp at his sides, not able to bring them up to hug Victor back but not having the power - or the heart - to push him away.

"Yuuri," Victor breathes and it makes him tremble with emotion. He shuts his eyes, wanting rid himself from half-formed suspicions and insecurities and just believe that nothing has changed. "Let me help you with that."

Victor's clever fingers deal with the clasps of Yuuri's coat quickly and he pulls it off his shoulders. The scarf and the beanie follow. Yuuri thinks Victor is simultaneously stripping him of his armor rather than clothes not stopping until he's raw and vulnerable in front of him, while Victor himself remains as precise and unattainable as ever.

"Yuuri," he repeats and chilly hands cup his face, making him meet the attentive gaze of Victor's eyes. Yuuri shivers, either from the tender coolness on his skin or from the piercing sharpness of Victor's stare that reaches deep into him to dissect his darkest fears. He'd much rather avoid it, hiding away or getting distracted by the whining pup, but he can't, strangely drawn to and unsettled by Victor.

"Welcome home. If that's what you want it to be."

Yuuri gasps, completely lost and taken aback at how easily Victor says it. He feels dizzy when Victor leans closer in, his expression unreadable and his eyes searching for something insistently. Whatever he finds in Yuuri's face appears to be enough and Victor closes the remaining inches between them, pressing a dry kiss to Yuuri's mouth. Victor moans, as if a simple warm brush of lips pained him. He keeps them light and sweet, short little pecks frustrating Yuuri, who stretches his neck in attempt to prolong them. He tiptoes and clenches Victor's upper arms, demanding more, his stomach fluttering at the careful measured touches and his heart feeling too big for his chest. He is tipping on the verge of crying or laughing, exhausted from all the worry but still happy.

Victor's eyes shine when he pulls away, although Yuuri feels like he's been robbed of a proper kiss.

"Tea?" he offers and since Yuuri's tongue feels too thick to form any words, he just nods. "Bathroom is over there. The kitchen is right down there to your right."

Yuuri steps on the soles of his shoes to take them off and follows Victor's direction to the bathroom. He washes his hands and presses them to his heated face to calm down. His face is red, betraying his agitation and Yuuri takes several deep breaths. His eyes are irritated too and he slides the wet fingers under the glasses to rub them.

The electric kettle comes to a boil when Yuuri enters the kitchen. The room is bright; the dominating white and light blue colours making it appear even larger than it is. Everything from the stove to the long table with the high bar stools looks modern and brand new, but at the same time comes across as unnaturally sterile. The room lacks coziness, repelling the eye with its crisp and efficient lines. Even the cups give nothing away of their owner’s character. Plain white and probably not cheap, they are crafted as exact copies of each other and Yuuri fondly recalls the colourful disarray of cups on the rack over the sink back home.  
   
Victor carefully steps over Makkachin on the floor as he carries the kettle to the table, pouring the steaming water into the teapot. He looks a bit alien, like he doesn’t belong in this domestic setting created by a designer who had never heard of the warmth of home.  
   
Yuuri climbs onto the bar stool opposite Victor, wiggling a little on the squeaky leather seat.  
   
“It should steep,” Victor explains, propping his chin on his folded fingers and staring at Yuuri, a hint of a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth. A bit embarrassed by the attention he’s getting, Yuuri avoids looking him in the eyes directly. Every surface of the kitchen is too smooth and featureless, giving him no excuse to linger on anything for long, so his gaze just slides over until it returns to Victor.  
   
Yuuri pours tea for them both, cautiously pressing down the lid of the pot so as to not create a mess. He picks his cup up right after – at least it gives his hands something to do – and raises it to his lips, blowing on the amber fluid. It’s a mistake, of course, as his glasses cloud up instantly and he hears Victor snicker. With a sigh Yuuri takes them off and wipes them with the hem of his shirt, squinting to check if that left any prominent streaks on the lenses. He puts the glasses back on to find Victor still staring at him, his left hand cupping his cheek. He tilts his head slightly, his pinkie sliding to the corner of his lips where it’s caught between his teeth.  
   
“What is it?” Yuuri asks, fidgeting in his seat. It’s not particularly comfortable and together with Victor’s look he cannot decipher, Yuuri feels like he’s on display.  
   
“Your hair got longer,” Victor explains, the fingers of his right hand tracing the rim of his cup in slow circles.  
   
“Oh. Well…”  
   
“I like it,” Victor informs him, making all the excuses about the lack of time to get a haircut irrelevant.  
   
“Um… thanks,” Yuuri replies.  
   
Tentative fingers brush the hair away from his face, gathering the locks behind his left ear. They travel lower, from his earlobe down to his neck, the ticklish light touch making his skin prickle. Yuuri wets his lips as his pulse quickens. As if sensing that, Victor’s hand drops down and his fingers sneak their way under the cuff of Yuuri’s shirt, stroking the tender inner side of his wrist. The heat of the touch seeps under his skin, making him break into goosebumps.  
   
He grips the handle of the cup in his right hand tighter as Victor bends forward, the stool screeching against the floor as it’s pushed back. Yuuri’s eyes flutter closed even before his mouth meets Victor’s. The kiss is different this time – still unhurried, but more sensual. He eagerly follows Victor’s lead, although he’s clumsier and more impatient, the tip of his tongue brushing against Victor’s. He’s rewarded with a muffled sigh of content, the one that makes him shiver and double the effort, shamelessly using his lips and teeth and tongue in an attempt to earn another moan. The kiss lacks finesse and Yuuri gets short of breath, melting under the warm moist pressure of Victor’s lips gliding over his. Yuuri shivers as a tingle in the back of his neck slides down his spine. Victor licks across his bottom lip quite frivolously before pulling back for air.

Yuuri doesn't tolerate that break for long - he plasters his mouth back over Victor's possessively, heatedly, not realizing how deeply his urge to claim was. He sucks Victor's lip into his mouth with a grunt. Yuuri yelps in surprise a moment later, startling Victor. Makkachin bites his toes, the pressure of his teeth coming across more of a shock than pain.

“I think he’s jealous,” Victor whispers and gives Makkachin a begrudging look. “You had to choose that very moment to be selfish, didn’t you?” he asks Makka, and gets a cheerful bark in return.

“I knew it,” Victor concludes, plopping back onto his stool. “Do you want to come walk that beast with me, or you’re too tired?”

“I will.” Yuuri clears his throat, trying to shake off his disappointment. He enjoys Victor getting spontaneous, but he himself can’t swing back and forth between making out and casual talk. “I’ll come.”

“Mm, promise?” Victor drawls, but Yuuri is completely lost as to where this playfulness is coming from.

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“Huh?”

“You promised to _come_ with me.”

“Yes, and?”

“Oh fine,” Victor sighs, picking his cup back up. “Attempt one at innuendo failed.”

Yuuri doesn’t question it in order to avoid more awkwardness. Makkachin tugs on the leg of his jeans, urging him to finish whatever he’s doing and pay some attention to him.

“He’s really impatient,” Victor remarks.

“Yeah. I wonder who he got that from,” Yuuri says lightly and Victor blinks in surprise. Yuuri sips his tea, raising his brows pointedly while holding Victor’s stare. He begins to fidget upon realizing he went overboard with sass, but then Victor snorts, covering his mouth with his hand so as to not to spray the tea all over the place.

“Let me change and we’ll go,” Victor announces.

“Do you want me to bring your suitcase to the bedroom for you to unpack?” he calls from the corridor.

“Yeah, thanks,” Yuuri shouts back and wonders whether Georgiy was right and this is a one-bedroom flat. He decides to leave that discovery for later.  

The fact that Victor discarded the ring he gave him still bugs Yuuri. He half-hoped to find it on the bathroom shelf - taking it off to wash his hands could serve as a good excuse - but he didn’t see it there. Victor couldn’t have just lost it, he looks thinner but not to the point where the ring could just slip off his finger. And even if it did, it would be easy to find a similar gold band to replace it. Makkachin nudges him with his head and Yuuri bends down to pet him. Speculating is no use, of course, so he’d just have to work up the courage to ask about it.

“I’m ready.”

Victor returns to the kitchen wearing a gray turtleneck just as Yuuri picks the cups up for a quick rinse. Victor follows him to the sink, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist and pressing himself against his back. Makkachin gives him a disapproving growl.

“Shush, I got to him first,” Victor chides, leaning in to peek over Yuuri’s shoulder. Not that there is much to see, really. Yuuri’s movements are a bit restrained but he manages to get the job done. “Am I invading your personal space?”

“I plead the Fifth,” Yuuri mutters and Victors huffs out a laugh.

“That’s just for the States.”

“Always worked with Phichit regardless of location.”

“Oh? Did Phichit do this to you too, hmm? Should I be worried?” Victor asks and Yuuri doesn’t know if he’s playing or intends to sulk for real. “Should I take on a full-time job of swatting away your admirers?”

“No,” he says finally.

“Why?”

“There never was one to compete with you.”

“Oh, you.”

“You are the best one there could ever be. In anything,” Yuuri says defensively. He feels his words are not taken seriously.

“Could you repeat that again? Maybe a bit louder, when Yurio’s around?”

“Victor!”

“Sorry. I know you believe what you’re saying, but it should be the other way around.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that’s exactly how I feel about you.”

“I’m hardly the best,” Yuuri says bitterly and Victor’s long exhale ruffles his hair.

“Just give me time to prove it.” Victor hits the crown of his head a quick kiss. “Let’s go, before you suffer any more abuse from Makka.”

It’s still cloudy and bleak outside. The gusts of wind make him shiver and as Yuuri adjusts his scarf to cover the lower half of his face, he wishes he had changed into something warmer, as well.

“It’s always like that, I’m afraid,” Victor says, following Makkachin’s lead and maneuvering between cars parked on the side of the road meant for pedestrians. “The weather. You hardly get to see the sun.” He mows down his eyes, checking Yuuri’s reaction to his words.

“Something to get used to, I suppose,” Yuuri offers nonchalantly. He reaches to take Victor’s hand, but Victor jerks it away. The hitch lasts a moment and Yuuri frowns.

“Quite chilly today, isn’t it?” Victor pronounces, the cheer in his voice too obvious to be genuine. Someone turns around to look at him. Victor ignores the stranger, not sparing him a greeting. He reaches into his pocket and slips his gloves on.

“There should be some kind of park around here.”

“Should be?” Yuuri echoes, pretending not to notice Victor’s not-so-sleek avoidance of being touched.

“I just moved here, so I’m not that great at navigating around,” he explains.

“Why did you move?”

Victor shrugs, checking the traffic before turning behind the corner of the building.

“I didn’t like the idea of returning to my old apartment. It felt like I never left and I wanted… a change.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes and no. I brought most of the furniture when I moved, so I kinda retained the old feel. But I guess you could be…” he trails off and Yuuri frowns.

“Be what?”

“The needed change. To make it feel like home.”

“You invited me to redecorate your flat?” Yuuri teases, eliciting a chuckle out of Victor.

“You’ve completely shattered my belief in my eloquence.”

“It was a joke.”

“And now my conviction I could understand jokes without them being announced as such.”

“Victor!”

“I give as good as I get,” he declares and Yuuri just shakes his head.

They come across a park of a kind, or rather several trees planted around a kids’ playground. There are few people around as it’s relatively early in the day. Victor doesn’t let Makkachin off the leash, but follows him obediently instead, walking from one tree to another and then across the playground in random patterns. Yuuri tries to catch up, feeling a bit awkward just tracking their steps. He casually attempts to get a hold of Victor’s hand again, but Victor promptly switches the leash to his right hand.

“I think we’re done here,” Victor says. “Do you want to go back before we freeze or should we go grab something to eat? I should have asked earlier. Are you hungry?”

Yuuri looks at him, trying to comprehend what he did wrong. Victor’s smile is non-abiding but stiff, the kind of polite grin he’d give on command.

“I’m not hungry,” Yuuri replies dimly.

“Another time then.”

Victor either doesn’t sense the change of tone or simply has nothing else to say. They make their way back in silence and Yuuri struggles to keep his thoughts in order. He is hurt and confused, wondering whether he misinterprets the signs or if he just overthinks it all, looking for a catch when there is none. Everything seems fine but then it’s not. It could be the fatigue and all the anxiety, inevitable when travelling. He tries to battle his doubts, but he feels miserable where he should have been happy.

Yuuri tries to keep his distance, walking next to Makkachin several steps ahead of Victor. He can’t even say he is upset, all emotion deflated out of him until all that’s left is an empty shell.

“I could help you unpack,” Victor prompts when they get back. This time Yuuri strategically moves away and deals with his coat and his scarf on his own. He is perfectly capable of doing it himself; he doesn’t need to be undressed like a doll.

“Yeah, later.” Yuuri does not feel motivated to do anything, left alone to go through the clothes he brought.

Yuuri turns away and follows Makkachin’s lead to the living room, his feet making no sound on the wooden floor compared to the staccato of Makka’s claws. He pulls his phone out and takes the farthest end of the couch to prop his arm on the armrest while scrolling through his Instagram feed.

“Not even gonna ask for the wi-fi password?”

Victor sits right next to him, closer than would otherwise be appropriate. Their thighs touch but Victor goes further, lifting Yuuri’s legs to put them across his lap and sliding his arm behind Yuuri’s back to coax him closer. Yuuri lets himself be manipulated, relaxing into the embrace even though he feels he shouldn’t. He leaves his phone on the armrest, shifting to sit between Victor’s legs and tucks his head under Victor’s chin.

Makka jumps on the couch, taking the opposite side and rolling himself in a ball. He keeps his eyes on them but they begin to droop. 

“I still can’t believe you came,” Victor murmurs softly, threading his fingers through the hair at the back of Yuuri’s head. “Am I invading your privacy again?”

“Well, you’re quite… tactile?”

“You know why?” Victor asks and Yuuri looks up. Victor regards him seriously. “Cause you’re too good to be true,” he hums off-tune, the graveness of his expression not faltering. “Can’t take my hands off you…”

“Oh no,” Yuuri groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Why do you do this to me?”

Victor cackles, squeezing him tighter before relaxing his arms once again.

“The temptation to embarrass you was too strong and I’m a weak man,” he proclaims. “Alright, I won’t sing, but tell me if I get too clingy.”

“It’s fine.”

Yuuri leans against Victor’s shoulder. He picks the little spools of Victor’s sweater, rolling them between his fingers. Victor catches his hand to prevent the sweater from being plucked bare. Yuuri sucks in a long breath when Victor’s fingers slide between his and he cradles the locked hands against his chest.

“Tired?” Victor misinterprets his sigh.

“Yeah.” Yuuri agrees and adds in a beat. “May I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.”

“Victor, what happened to the ring?”

Victor’s body stiffens and Yuuri can feel his heart drumming right under where Yuuri’s palm is pressed to his chest.

“I… I wasn’t sure if you were coming.”

“Huh? I told you I would!”

“Yeah. But…”

“But what?”

“Remember Sochi? It was all great until you just vanished without a trace.”

“That is an unfair comparison! You can’t seriously believe that my drunk babbling equals the promise I made continuously for weeks! Why would you even...”

“You are right, I’m sorry. Here, let’s just fix this.”

Victor gently untangles himself from Yuuri and leaves to rummage through the chest of drawers in the bedroom. It doesn’t take him long to return with the ring. Yuuri feels hot under the collar when Victor drops onto one knee in front of him.

“Mister Katsuki, will you do me the honour?”

“Ugh…”

A trickle of sweat runs down Yuuri’s temple as he accepts the ring from Victor’s hand. The blood is pounding in his ears and it’s even more nerve-wracking as he remembers the first time to be.

“What should it signify now?” Yuuri’s voice cracks and he clears his throat to sound more convincing. “Ask you to be my coach again?”

“Or just to be yours…” Victor offers, flipping his hair out of his face, “…if that’s not too overused.”

“I can live with that.”

The ring fits snugly and Victor beams up at him, despite his fingers trembling a little in Yuuri’s hand. He doesn’t appear to be in a rush to get off the floor, although Yuuri is uncomfortable looking down at Victor.

“Will you forgive me?” The question is addressed to Yuuri’s knees. Victor turns his head and rests his cheek on Yuuri’s leg, his bangs falling across his face and obscuring his eyes.

“For what?”

“For allowing my faith in you to falter.”

Yuuri’s heart clenches and he says nothing, unable to breathe out a word. He cards his fingers through Victor’s hair, letting the sleek lockspass through and between each digit. He and hopes that alone serves as an answer.


	4. The Rink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm late with this ~~because I kept jumping to the smut parts ugh~~ , sorry. And wohoo, I'm over 14k words and they boys have kept their pants on. That's a record for me.

Yuuri quickly discovers that Georgiy did have a point. Victor has just one bed, a monstrous thing that is as wide as it is long. Victor absolutely would not hear any reason as to why the couch would just be as fine for sleeping.

Yuuri finds himself tired out of his mind but still awake and staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night. His body is messed up by the jet lag, but it’s not the only thing that’s keeping him up.

It started as a pleasant embrace, with Victor’s head nestled in the crook of Yuuri’s arm. Victor had no trouble falling asleep like that, his breath becoming even and calm, his body relaxing and adding to the weight Yuuri felt on his limb. Reluctant to disturb Victor, he turned onto his back, leaving his arm outstretched under the man’s neck. Yuuri occasionally wiggled his fingers to allow for better blood circulation, but inevitably his arm got completely numb, feeling detached from his body. He attempted to gradually pull it from underneath Victor, hissing as a jolt of pain shot through it, morphing into a sensation of hundreds heated pins prickling across his skin. Yuuri scooted away a little and kept flexing his fingers until most of the feeling was restored.

He wasn’t left alone to himself for long. Yuuri hears a thud, followed by a rustle. There is a juicy yawn and some fumbling at the foot of the bed as Makkachin kneads the blanket and tramples on the spot, until he finally drops down, settling his head across Yuuri’s shin.

Victor mutters something in his sleep, rolls ~~o~~ ver and drapes his arm across Yuuri’s chest. It’s not so bad – and Yuuri’s pretty comfortable – until Victor stretches and presses the full length of his body snugly against him.

Yuuri begins to sweat. He is wearing pajamas, both the top and the bottom, and he was stupid enough to go to bed in his socks. Victor slipped under the covers in just his underwear, leaving them on simply to preserve Yuuri’s modesty. The heat of his body seeps through the fabric of Yuuri’s clothes and the heavy blanket on top nearly suffocates him. Yuuri flips the corner of it off and tries to maneuver himself away from Victor and Makkachin without waking either up. He’s almost successful, sighing happily when he feels the coolness of the untouched sheets on his back.

The bliss only lasts for a moment. Victor scoops him up and slides him back where he was. Yuuri wheezes as the weight of Victor’s leg pins him to the bed, securing him in place. He pushes Victor’s leg away, which causes him to stir and results in an unpleasant nudge in Yuuri’s ribs. At last they reach a compromise of sorts. Yuuri lets Victor wrap himself around his left leg and lean against his shoulder. Victor’s warm moist breath tickles Yuuri’s neck, so he tucks a piece of blanket between to shield his skin.

Yuuri dozes off, fluctuating between dreaming and consciousness only when the room turns smoke-gray from the morning light. He closes his eyes for what seems to be a fraction of a second, but when he opens them again there’s a lot more light filtering through the shades.

“So warm,” Victor mumbles, nudging the side of his neck with his nose. He plants a kiss just under his earlobe, moving forward and pressing himself against Yuuri.

Victor’s definitely hard and as if to point this out, he drives his hips forward, grinding against Yuuri’s leg. The kiss becomes bolder. Yuuri’s stomach flutters as the wet tip of Victor’s tongue drags along Yuuri’s neck and Victor’s lips are sealed to the skin at the base of his throat. Victor’s hand travels down Yuuri’s chest and over his quivering belly until his palm bumps against Yuuri’s erection.

“Hmmm.” Victor pauses and Yuuri is completely mortified. The torture continues as Victor’s hand just rests on his pelvis, not putting pressure directly onYuuri’s cock but the proximity being rather suggestive as to his intentions.

“Do you need… a helping hand?” Victor whispers, teasing the tip of his finger over the tenting fabric of Yuuri’s pajama bottoms. Yuuri’s breath hitches as he’s too aware of his own arousal and the hard length squished between his thigh and Victor’s stomach. “Or perhaps a helping mouth?” Victor adds.

Yuuri groans and covers his eyes with his hand. It’s too much too soon, his mind simply not being able to process the idea of Victor doing _that_ to him. Mercifully, he doesn’t need to answer; the alarm on Victor’s phone goes off and Victor releases him, sitting up on the bed to reach over and turn it off.

“I should leave early.” Victor yawns and Yuuri moves his hand away from his face, curious. “I wanted to talk to Yakov about booking the rink for your practice. He’s absolutely against anyone being there with me, but perhaps I can talk him into allowing you to split it with Mila. I'll take Makka out too, so don''t worry about it.”

Victor raises his arms up to stretch, arching his body slightly and Yuuri shuts his eyes to avoid staring at him, especially since Victor didn’t even bother to cover his crotch with the blanket.

“Are you gonna be okay on your own here?” Victor asks. Yuuri peeks at him through his lashes and nods sharply. “Text me if you need anything. And by the way,” Victor bends down and lowers his voice, “my offer is not reserved for mornings only.”

Yuuri’s eyes go wide which makes Victor huff out a laugh.

“Behave. Or don’t,” he smacks his lips against Yuuri’s cheek in a loud smooch and climbs out of bed.

Yuuri flips over onto his stomach, burrowing his face between the pillows and spreading his arms out. It takes him no time to drift away into dream land. When he wakes up again he assumes it must be afternoon already. Makkachin is curled at his side but thumps his tail against the bed when Yuuri pets him lazily. Yuuri is reluctant to leave the bed but he knows it would be easier to get over the jet lag if he slips into the new routine. He yawns and rubs his eyes, still puffy from sleep, before getting up. Makkachin follows, allowing Yuuri to make the bed.

It’s well past eleven but not as late as he thought. Yuuri checks the messages, all of them from Victor and ranging from good morning wishes to detailed instructions on how to work the stove and the exact placement of products in the fridge. He smiles, imagining Victor being chased around the rink by Yakov, refusing to let go of his practice and simultaneously typing those texts. He probably sent each one after discovering there was no response to the previous message. Yuuri knows the feeling all too well. He does it too – notoriously checking his phone to see if his text came through and wondering why there was no reply, only to send another short sentence, hoping to come across as friendly and not desperate.

The phone buzzes in Yuuri’s hand as he scrolls to the end of the messages. It’s Victor again and the simple _“miss you”_ tugs on Yuuri’s heart. Somehow the separation is worse when he knows how close they are. He punches in “ _when will you be back?_ ” – but his message remains unread.

Yuuri looks at it for another moment and then puts his phone away with a sigh. He checks Makkachin’s bowls to make sure there’s food and water and cooks breakfast for himself. He washes the eggshells before putting them in the garbage bin and ensures he leaves the kitchen as sparkling-clean as it was.

Yuuri checks his phone again but there’s still no reply from Victor. It’s already past dinnertime in Hasetsu so he texts Mari to let her know he’s well. Yuuri walks back into the living room, noticing that just like the kitchen, it holds no personal imprint of the owner. There are no pictures or trinkets, aside from an abstract painting on the wall. Yuuri tilts his head and squints at the set of pastel triangles randomly scattered within the frame and wonders what they are supposed to represent. He eventually shrugs and stretches on the couch with his phone.

Yuuri soon gets bored, not feeling like putting any effort into replying to comments on his feed. He hugs a pillow, mindlessly staring at the strip of gray sky in the window. Victor was right; the sun hasn’t peeked through the thick curd of clouds even once and everything seems so bleak. Yuuri thinks he could go out, at least that would help him kill time until Victor’s return. He hears soft tapping against the glass as it starts raining and sighs again. No walking for him.

The beep of his phone pierces the silence. Yuuri shudders.

“ _I’ve just finished. Eat out or takeout?”_

Yuuri glances at the steely clouds and the angular wet streaks on the window.

“ _Takeout”_

 He pauses before adding in a rush of inspiration:

“ _Your treat :p”_

 “ _Any preferences?”_

“ _Nope”_

“ _Surprise me”_

“ _Wow, no pressure”_

…

“ _Does it have to be with food, though?”_

Yuuri puts the phone down, trying to contain the grin that is tugging on the corners of his mouth. Something as small as a mundane text can completely change the entire feel of the day.

When he hears the scrape of the key in the lock, Yuuri beats Makkachin to the door to greet Victor. He throws his arms around the man before Victor even has a chance to lock the door.

“That’s quite a welcome,” Victor murmurs, his voice warm. He tilts to his left a little, placing the rustling bags onto the stand and hugging Yuuri back. Yuuri burrows his face in the crook of Victor’s neck, inhaling deeply. The smell of Victor’s cologne mixes with the faint clean smell of freshness that comes with the rain, although it’s unlikely that he spent much time in the open.

“Now I’m really conscious about that shower I took at the rink.”

 “No, it’s not that.”

 Yuuri slips his hands under Victor’s coat in an attempt to get even closer, and locks his fingers behind the man’s back. It’s nice to be able to stand like that, enjoying the embrace. Victor’s fingers stroke the back of his neck and slide up to massage his scalp until Yuuri feels like he’s about to purr from the pleasure of it.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Victor croons. His stomach rumbles, the sound ending in a pitched whine and Victor chuckles. “I guess I am. Care to help me with these?”

Reluctantly, Yuuri lets go and picks the bags up to carry them off to the kitchen.

“What did you get?” he asks when he hears Victor entering the room, the sound of his steps mostly overpowered by the rustle of plastic.

“Italian.” Victor slides two plates on the table. “Why? Do you mind?”

Yuuri gives him a nonchalant shrug.

“Just asking. Wouldn’t mind getting some Russian.”

“Really?” Victor drawls, his arms sliding around Yuuri’s middle. “That’s nice to hear.”

“Mm?” Yuuri asks, popping the lid of a box and carefully transferring the salad onto the plate. Victor’s lips on his ear are distracting, but he tries to ignore it. The hand, sliding to his hip, is more difficult to disregard.

“Because a certain Russian wouldn’t mind getting some either.”

“Victo-or!”

“Alright, alright! Point taken. I’ll save the joke about devouring katsudon for later.”

Yuuri groans, amused and embarrassed at the same time. He doesn’t know how to respond to match the ease of Victor’s flirting, but his stomach flutters at the frisky hints Victor drops – even if they are far from subtle at times.

“So, what did you do today?” Victor asks when Yuuri takes a seat across from him and picks up his fork.

“Uh…Nothing. Just slept. Waited for you to return.” Yuuri thinks he sounds rather stupid, but Victor beams at him as if that’s the best news he has ever heard. “What about you?” Victor wrinkles up his nose and grimaces.

“My day could have been better.”

“Why’s that?”

“Yakov’s just…” Victor waves his hand in the air dismissively. “Anyways, I’ve arranged it with Mila, so you can start practicing on Monday.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah. I’ll have a time gap after my practice so I can get back home and pick you up.”

“You don’t have to. I’m sure I could find my way around.”

“Public transport is not a friendly place for people who don’t read Cyrillic. I can’t recall the last time i used the subway myself. But you could give it a shot, I guess.” Victor sighs. He picks up the lettuce and drops it pack onto the plate. “I wish Yakov would give me a day off, but that’s the one thing he’s absolutely against doing.”

“Why wouldn’t he let you rest for a day?”

“He wants me to get in shape as quickly as I can.”

“You can’t get back into it.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve never lost it,” Yuuri explains.

“I skipped a year.”

“I’m sor…” Victor raises his hand, shushing him.

“I never regretted that decision, but Yakov really wants me to prove to the world that skaters don’t have to retire in their twenties. And that won’t be easy.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re gonna run away if he gives you a little vacation. Besides, ordering you to do something has the opposite effect.”

“True.” Victor tilts his head to the side, giving him a quizzical look. “Wanna run away with me? Going sightseeing and stuff?” he teases, nudging Yuuri’s ankle with his foot.

“Oh, no need to be so radical,” Yuuri declines. Victor’s foot slides up his shin and he squirms.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Yuuri takes in a long breath in the hopes of working up the courage. Victor cocks his eyebrow, waiting for him to finish the sentence. “Because I’ve already found the only sight I’m interested in seeing.”

“Oh wow.” Victor’s bottom lip quivers as he tries to master a smile, which just slides off his face. His expression shifts from amused to completely lost.

“Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry! It sounded a lot wittier in my head.”

“Well, I… uh…” Victor rubs the back of his neck, struggling with words and looks away. His left hand rests on the polished white tabletop and Yuuri slides his own hand across and intertwines their fingers. It’s a familiar feeling and Victor’s hand returns the reassuring squeeze.

“Heard that before?” Yuuri prompts. He wants to turn it into a joke, but Victor frowns as if he’s actually thinking that over.

“Kind of. Maybe.” The fingers of his right hand pluck his bottom lip. “Normally I’d brush it off as…”

“Corny?”

“Flattery. Yet you sound so sincere… It’s disarming.”

Victor looks like he’s spiraling deeper in thought, frowning harder. With his head lowered, his bangs cover the left side of his face, distancing him.

“Vitya.” Yuuri gives his arm a little shake and Victor looks at him grimly through the curtain of his hair.

“Please don’t worry about it. Let’s just eat, alright?”

“Yeah.” Victor picks through his salad and risotto, finishing half of it before adding. “We should really go sightseeing, though. It’s unacceptable to be in Saint Petersburg and not visit the Winter Palace or the drawing of bridges.”

“We can go another day. Or later if the rain stops.”

“Oh! And all the cathedrals.” Victor adds, usual zealousness making its way back into his voice.

“Churches, huh?” Yuuri repeats, not sure he’d be interested in seeing those.

“Yes. Don’t you feel like confessing your sins?”

“Um… what sins?”

 Victor winks at him.

 “Mmm… how about… lechery?”

 “Victor!”

 “What? Am I the only one guilty of it?”

 Yuuri snorts and swats his hand.

 “Behave!”

 Victor pouts.

 “Or what? I get spanked?”

Yuuri groans. It’s impossible to tell whether Victor is being silly or testing the waters with half-masked encouragement. How is he allowed to say things like that but overreacts when Yuuri tries to match the playfulness? That idea - Victor, arching back to receive a ringing smack across his behind - makes his stomach flip regardless. It’s ridiculous but oddly… no, there is no way he could find anything like that appealing.

 “You’re blushing,” Victor croons and Yuuri fidgets. “Aw, you know it was a joke, right?” He carefully raises Yuuri’s hand to brush his lips over his knuckles. “I’m sorry for being like that; it’s difficult to contain myself when I’m with you.” Victor turns Yuuri’s palm over and nudges against it. “I’ll try to be more of a gentleman.”

Victor keeps his promise and they manage to finish their lunch in relative peace. The rain doesn’t stop, however, so aside from a quick dart outside to let Makka do his business, they are forced to stay indoors. Yuuri is fine with that scenario. He takes the corner of the couch and Victor stretches close to him with a book.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks as Victor wiggles up and puts his head in Yuuri’s lap. “The book.”

“Miriam Petrosyan.” Victor looks at him and smiles. “I didn’t expect you to know who that was. I accidentally opened that book in a store and couldn’t stop since.”

“Read it to me.”

“In Russian?” Victor raises an eyebrow at him, not expecting such a request. Yuuri strokes his fingers across it, smoothing out the little wrinkles gathered up on his forehead.

“Why not?” Yuuri shrugs and runs his finger down Victor’s nose. “I have to get used to the sound of it.” He traces the shape of Victor’s lips lightly until his finger tip is caught between the sharp teeth.

“Well, then,” Victor agrees after Yuuri snatches his finger back. “Brace yourself for the most mysterious, captivating and bizarre story.”

“The effect will only be intensified by the fact that I won’t get a single word out of it.”

***

They arrive at the rink after noon the following day. Yuuri cannot help feeling excited, even though his last practice was only a week ago. The novelty, mixed with a strange awe, bubbles up in him and he quickly laces up his skates and steps out on the brightly-lit rink. It’s larger than those he is used to, but it could be an illusion imposed by the high ceiling. He’s seen the videos of Victor practicing here, ever long before Yuuri even allowed himself the fantasy of skating on the same ice as him. He holds his breath when he steps onto the impeccably smooth surface, almost feeling like he’s committing a sacrilege.

“It’s the first time ever I remember Mila being on time.”

Yuuri turns his head, following Victor’s stare. The girl’s flaming red hair is impossible to miss even across the rink.

“Do you want to say hi?” Victor questions. “I think that's the part for her being early. She’ll be delighted to talk to you again.”

“What do you mean, again?” Yuuri asks, keeping his tone light even though he suspects what the answer will be.

“Alright. Well, technically, you didn’t speak. But I do remember you signing her arm at the banquet.”

Yuuri groans. Victor gives him a knowing smile and nudges him to skate along towards the opposite side as he briskly walks along the other side of the rink border.

“ _The_ banquet?” Every time Yuuri thinks he’s heard the worst of it, a new detail pops up. “Why would I sign her arm? Where would I even get a pen?”

“A permanent marker.” Victor corrects him and Yuuri looks at him in disbelief. “Don’t ask me why she brought a marker to the after-party. Women,” Victor says, stressing the word as if it explained it all. “I think she asked you to write a kanji for love or harmony or something like that. She wanted to have it tattooed.”

“Oh no,” Yuuri groans and reaches out to grab Victor’s hand to stop him. “Let’s not go talk to her.”

“Too late, she’s noticed us,” Victor points out. Mila waves at them enthusiastically and Yuuri breaks into a cold sweat.

“Victor,” he hisses, resisting as the man drags him along effortlessly. Yuuri brings the toes of his skates to break the slide. “I could have written my name on her or some lame joke! What if she did have it tattooed?”

“Then she’d better not go to Japan and flash it to everyone,” Victor shrugs. “Unless the punchline was great. Hey,” he adds in a hushed voice, “if you wanna write your name on me, I’m totally getting that tat.”

“Victo-or!” Yuuri’s grunt is accompanied by the man’s silvery laugh and Mila’s grin, even though she couldn’t have caught Victor’s last words.

“Ah, there’s the boy who had Yakov’s panties twisted in a knot,” she chatters. Instead of offering a greeting, she winks at Yuuri.

“Thanks for the visual.” Victor wrinkles his nose up. Yuuri looks at him and back to Mila, having no clue as what they’re even talking about. Mila picks a bobby pin from a little stack on the railing and slides it into her hair.

“Thank you for allowing me to practice with you.” Yuuri presses his palms together and bows.

“Aw, cute!” Mila chirps and pinches his cheeks. Yuuri sucks in a breath while Victor huffs out a laugh. “No problem. That one,” she jerks her chin up, pointing at Victor. “Can be quite skilled with his tongue when he wants to.”

Yuuri gapes at her, which sends the girl into a giggling fit.

“What Mila meant to say is that I found the right words to butter her up - not compliment my oral skills.”

“Did I?” she replies, tongue in cheek and Yuuri helplessly looks from her to Victor. “There are rumours, you know…”

Yuuri feels hot under the collar as these two continue their exchange. He twists the hem of his shirt in his fingers, feeling out of place. His ears are on fire and he wishes he could cover them up.

“Mila, you insufferable child…”

“I’m eighteen!”

“Which serves to prove my point. I believe you should slow down with your lewd comments.”

“Huh?” She does go quiet, but not for more than a moment. “Yurochka! Sweetheart! Are you unwell? You are red all over.”

It takes Yuuri a moment to realize she is talking to him. Mila looks genuinely concerned and she leans over, her gloved hands brought together over her chest.

“It’s… just… you are so _forward_ ,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Ha, finally someone calls you out, Mila,” Victor sneers and Yuuri shoots him a begrudging look.

“It’s not what I meant. I… “

“Honesty. I like that,” Mila interrupts. “Sorry if I pushed the joke too far, but, you know, a little flattery every now and then keeps your record good, huh?” She nudges Yuuri in the ribs. “Anyway, promise me we’ll get a coffee sometime. Would it be too disrespectful for me to ask you out for sushi?”

“Well…”

“Great. Oh, I see Yakov’s here.”

The short, stout man waltzes up to them. Victor nods and Yuuri stutters a hello, but Yakov pays them no mind.

“Till later, then,” Victor says coolly. Mila peeks over Yakov’s shoulder and waves at them, smiling as if to apologize while the man addresses her in a grumpy voice.

“What was that?” Yuuri asks, catching up with Victor and throwing a cautious look behind his shoulder to make sure he’s not heard by the other two.

“Mila enjoys her sass too much. I guess it doesn’t help that last time she saw you, you were swinging from the pole and pouring champagne over naked Chris.” Yuuri lets out a pained moan and Victor gives him a lopsided smile. “She’s nice, you’ll see. Once you get past all the teasing and the need to have the last word in everything.”

“I actually meant… Did I offend Yakov somehow?”

Victor tenses up, but dismisses Yuuri's suspicion with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t think about it. You did nothing wrong. Just… focus.” He leans forward, folding his arms on the railing. “A simple warm-up and maybe some jumps. I don’t want you to overwork yourself on the first day. Is there anything in particular you want to do?”

“I could practice a Lutz. It’s not my strongest,” Yuuri suggests, half-expecting Victor to argue.

“Alright. I want us to choreograph the program together. Once you’ve had time to settle, that is. I already have several songs in mind for it, but I want to hear yours first and…” Victor stops mid-sentence and gives him a quizzical look. “Why are you still standing here, listening to me ramble? Go! Start.”

Yuuri begins the slide with a forceful push against the ice. He stretches his arms out, trying to contain a happy smile at the familiar whoosh of air when he cuts through it smoothly. He’s a little more aware of his movements than he would normally be; from that distance even with his glasses on he cannot be sure that Yakov and Mila are watching him, but they did turn to face him. It’s only natural for them to be curious, but it’s akin to an invasion of personal space. He is used to practicing alone, aside from his coach being present. Back in Hasetsu he had the luxury of having the rink to himself simply because there was no one else there who’d be dedicated enough to spend hours on ice. Celestino was a firm believer that practice was a private business as well. Yuuri knows his uneasiness about being judged is ridiculous and that image of infallible Russian team is only an embellishment, but his stomach is queasy nonetheless.

Yuuri makes several circles round the rink, orienting himself in the unusually vast space. He needs to get used to it quickly and sense the boundaries with utter confidence – even if he has his eyes closed. He gathers speed, inhales sharply and uses his entire torso to jolt into the air. The landing is wobbly and the blades of his skates scrape against the ice, shaving some of it off in a spray of fine, white dust.

“Yuuri! Good!” Victor calls, joining his palms with a clap and bringing his hands to his face, fingertips pressed to his lips.

Yuuri’s face is radiating heat. He knows it wasn’t his best attempt, but he shouldn’t be beating himself up over it. He switches it up and goes for some simpler things – a toe loop and a flip – and gets another “ _good_ ” shouted in his direction. Yuuri’s breathing is loud to his own ears, but nowhere as noisy as Yakov’s sonorous voice carried through the rink. The man appears to comment on Mila’s every move, although it is difficult to tell whether it’s praise or chiding. Yuuri can’t help thinking that Victor used to be more vocal too, showering him with non-stop “ _Amazing!_ _More!_ ” and even “ _Wow! Great!_ ” back in Hasetsu. It could be the echo of the rink that keeps him mostly quiet – Victor would have to shout at the top of his lungs to come through Yakov’s half-angry mumbling. Or it could be that Yuuri’s skating is not on point today.

It’s not time to be petty, though. Yuuri enters a spin, stretching his arms out and watching the world dissolve into a blur of white and gray. He breaks it sharply, purposefully coming to a stop right where he began it to face Victor. He’s not looking at Yuuri, however. His head is turned to his left, in the direction of Mila and her coach.

“Again,” Victor calls absentmindedly.

Yuuri lowers his arms, leaving them limp at his side and turns away. He swallows the lump in his throat, taking in deep breaths. He looks at Mila from the corner of his eye, just in time to catch her landing. If Yakov’s exclamation is anything to judge from, he is impressed. The jump was probably clean and precise – unlike his own.

Yuuri notices someone leaning against the door frame at the entrance of the locker rooms to the left of where Victor is standing. He squints but he doesn’t need to see the stranger’s face to recognize Yurio - not that he could make out his face with the hood of the sweater pulled down over his head. He feels a cool shiver run down his spine, the pressure to deliver a solid jump only increasing. Yuuri rolls his fingers into fists, going around his side of the rink in a loop, over and over, until he feels that he’s ready to jump.

It’s messier than before. He waves his arms to regain his balance, but doesn’t land face first only because he pushes off the ice with his right hand. He straightens up to find that this time Victor missed none of his fail.

“Yuuri, again,” he repeats.

Yuuri clenches his teeth in determination. He sees Yakov approaching Victor but he does his best to clear his mind, determined to land the Lutz perfectly. It doesn’t work. Yuuri grunts when his knee bangs the ice, the sharp pain shooting through his entire leg.

“Victor, when you said again, did you mean the jump or the fall?” Yakov asks flatly.

Victor frowns and flips his hair back with a shake of his head.

“Are you alright?” Some concern seeps into Victor’s voice, but Yuuri doesn’t answer. Being openly mocked feels like a slap in the face. Victor says nothing to protect him, thus intensifying Yuuri’s humiliation. Yuuri ignores his outstretched arm - even though Victor is too far to help him stand. He picks himself up, biting his bottom lip.

“That’s enough for today. I’ll meet you in the locker room.”

Yuuri tries to walk without limping. His knee throbs, the dull ache spreading up his hip. Yuuri knows he’ll get the most spectacular bruise.

“Oi, katsudon,” Yurio spits out as Yuuri brushes past him, trying to fit through the door frame. The boy won’t move, of course, but Yuuri ignores his call and keeps walking. He feels guilty for it but he doesn’t have the strength to deal with an added burn to his deflated self-esteem.

Yuuri grabs a towel from his locker and eases himself down on a bench. He’s drenched and a hot shower is quite tempting, but it would only make the newly developing bruise swell up even more. He takes his glasses off and wipes his face and neck. He sighs.

“Here.”

Yuuri shudders, caught off guard by the sound of Yurio’s voice so close to him. He looks at the bright blue soda can he’s offered and shakes his head.

“Not thirsty, thanks.”

Yurio huffs.

“It’s for your leg, you idiot. The cold helps.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The can is a bit slippery with condensate and Yuuri tugs the leg of his pants up to press it directly onto the skin. His knee is already turning red, a darker purple shade blossoming in the center.

“Thank you,” he repeats, looking Yurio in the eye. His gratitude is shrugged off.

Yurio shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, giving him an appraising look from under his brow ~~s~~. Yuuri awaits the insult to come – be it his clumsiness or perhaps in the mocking of his weight. It could even be some angry advice telling him to go back home.

“Picked a programme for your nationals yet?” Yurio scowls as if an ordinary question tastes bitter on his tongue. The tone makes up for the blandness of his words though, adding scorn and annoyance to them. Yuuri just blinks, certain he must have misheard it.

“What? It that a goddamn secret?” Yurio says, venting out when he doesn’t receive an immediate response. “Or you got that knowledge knocked out of you by that shitty fall?”

Yuuri is saved from the need to reply by Victor, who steps into the room carrying a towel rolled into a ball.

“Ah, our little stalker,” he exclaims while patting Yurio’s shoulder. The boy grunts and jerks his shoulder violently to throw Victor’s hand off.

“Shut up! I’m none of that.”

“Mhmm. That’s why you were here on the day of Yuuri’s arrival and now, even though your practice doesn’t start until the evening.” Victor kneels in front of Yuuri, replacing the soda can with the towel and moving Yuuri’s hand over the bundle to secure it in place. “I think you got yet another fan,” he teases, winking at Yuuri.

“I re-scheduled, you moron!”

“Sure you did. What a coincidence. You did it right after you found out about the time of Yuuri’s practice.”

“I owe you no explanations, you…”

Victor distracts him by throwing the soda can back to Yurio, who instinctively reaches out to catch it. He squeezes it in his hand until there’s a faint crack of metal. Yuuri thinks that Yurio is about to fling it back at Victor’s head and gives the boy what he hopes to be a pleading look.

“I need to get ready.” Yurio enunciates each word through clenched teeth and circles the bench. He slams the door of his locker, making Yuuri jerk in surprise. Yurio plops onto the bench, leaning against Yuuri’s back, which pushes him forward. The hiss of the laces being pulled tight makes Yuuri worried about their integrity, but Yurio succeeds with the task and leaves the room without spearing either of them another glance.

Yuuri purses his lips, wondering whether he should speak up. It’s unfair of Victor to tease Yurio like that, but the boy would not have overreacted if the words didn’t have some truth to them.

“It’s true, you know,” Victor offers casually, as if he could read Yuuri’s mind. “He did ask Yakov to change his time from morning to now.” He cradles Yuuri’s ankle, lifting his leg a little while he tugs on the laces of the skates. “You’re the new celebrity,” he adds, shooting Yuuri a quick glance from under his lashes. He unties the laces and carefully removes the skates from Yuuri’s feet, placing them onto the floor.

“Does it still hurt?”

Victor gently moves Yuuri’s hand with the improvised ice bag away. He bends down and for a second Yuuri thinks he’s about to press a kiss on the irritated skin. Victor traces the outline of the reddened spot, but his touch is too light or Yuuri’s knee is completely desensitized by the cold – he doesn’t feel a thing. Victor sighs and looks up, studying Yuuri’s face.

“You’ll need to get a haircut soon,” he observes, reaching out to push the hair off Yuuri’s forehead. Yuuri flinches and leans back, avoiding the touch.

“My hair was fine yesterday,” he mumbles while combing through his somewhat damp locks to get them back in place.

“It still is. I’m just saying you would look better if you had it trimmed.”

“Look better? To whom?” Yuuri throws back with more anger than he intended. Victor’s eyes widen in disbelief. He has to turn away before he finds any accusation in them.

“Yuuri,” Victor drawls in surprise. The helplessness put in the simple word tugs on Yuuri’s heart. “What’s the matter? Did I do anything wrong?”

“You did nothing.”

“So why are you..?”

“That’s the problem. It’s meaner than saying it yourself!”

“Oh.” The understanding softens his features and he almost looks sheepish. “Yuuri…”

“Stop saying my name like that!” Some of the tension leaves Yuuri even though he’s still a bit grumpy. Victor senses that and gives him a little smile.

“Like what?” he coos.

“Like _that_.”

“Why-y?”

“Because it’s impossible to stay mad at you.”

“You’re too precious.”

“And you’re avoiding an answer.”

“What was the question, again?”

Yuuri bites his tongue. He cannot quite put it to words - the shame of his fall and the burn Yakov’s sneering. Deep down he knows he has only himself to be upset with; sulking because Victor didn’t do what he expected him to do is shallow. Yet he craves the reassurance that it was alright, that he didn’t fail Victor and that he will do better next time. Yuuri would rather get it out of his system then pretend like nothing happened with his mind playing the humiliating episode over and over until each little mistake becomes unbearably clear.

“Nothing,” Yuuri lies. His voice is stiff and he wishes Victor caught that. If he gets the hint and asks him about what is wrong again, he’ll tell him. But the man remains oblivious to Yuuri’s internal struggle.

“Wanna head home then? I guess walking around the city gets postponed yet again.”

The unintentional reminder makes Yuuri clench his teeth. He accepts Victor's hand and allows the man to pull him up on his feet. He feels smaller without his skates and he sighs, leaning forward. Yuuri hopes for a hug, but Victor takes a step back, avoiding the touch.

“Yuuri, we shouldn't...” he whispers, his voice trailing off. Victor doesn't finish the sentence. He's rubbing the back of his neck, eyes downcast. Yuuri just gapes at him, feeling his bottom lip starting to tremble. He turns cold inside, the emptiness in the pit of his stomach draining him of any emotion.

“Yurochka, poka!” Milla peeks into the room, flashing him a wide smile.

“Mila! You do realize it's men's locker room?” Victor snaps at her. “I could have been naked in here.”

The girl looks at him, her eyebrows raised.

“It's either I've come too late or arrived right before the start of the show, huh?”

“Do you have to turn everything into a joke?” Victor calms down a bit as Mila returns his cold stare, not affected by the scolding.

“Pretty much. And I didn't come to talk to you, Nikiforov. Actually, I don't have time to talk at all, I just didn't want to leave without a goodbye.” She walks over to Yuuri and gives him a quick peck on both cheeks. “It was so nice seeing you.”

Mila pulls him into a hug, the softness of her hair tickling his face. Yuuri just stands there, uncertain of what to do with his arms. He looks at Victor over the girl's shoulder, silently begging for some advice on how to handle that situation. Victor squints at them, crossing his arms over his chest. Mila finally releases him, unperplexed about the lack of reciprocation on Yuuri's part.

“Till tomorrow, then,” she calls and sticks her tongue out at Victor when she passes him by.

Yuuri waves at her, a wash of relief making it a bit easier to breathe. It's good to know that her attitude hasn't changed; he didn't catch any pity or sneer in her words. It appears as if Mila still wanted to be his friend.

“Let's go,” Victor orders and Yuuri puts his shoes on, gathering the few things he had in his backpack.

Victor insists on helping him down the stairs, although Yuuri is more than capable of doing it himself. The weight of Victor's arm around his waist feels quite pleasant, although Yuuri finds that he's gripped stronger than needed. He's practically lifted off his feet, pressed snugly against Victor's side. Yuuri's released when they get to the bottom of the staircase. However, when he tries to pull the the handle, Victor steps in, blocking the door. He throws a quick look over Yuuri's shoulder and leans against the wooden frame.

“Did you like it?” Victor demands. He doesn't look angry, but the strain in his voice turns the question from casual to menacing. Yuuri frowns, trying to figure out what this is about. “When she called you Yurochka.”

“Um...”

“I can do it better.”

Yuuri thinks he's missing out on something. It was an odd question and Victor's claim is no less bizarre. He shrugs, hoping this would end the conversation, but that only encourages Victor to act.

“Yuuri,” he drawls, his arm curling round Yuuri's shoulders to pull him closer. “Yuurochka.”

The warm whisper makes him tingle all over. Victor seals his mouth over his, the tip of his tongue swiping across Yuuri's lips. He's rather insistent, repeating the move until Yuuri's lips part, allowing him the chance to slide in. The kiss is not as gentle or patient as Yuuri is used to. Victor claims him, his right hand scrunching up Yuuri's coat as his left hand slides up to cradle the back of Yuuri's head. His tongue moves in short, confident strokes, rubbing against Yuuri's in the way that makes his legs wobble and his heart swell.

He can feel the hunger that wasn't there before and the sudden surge of possessiveness in Victor. He tries to match it, mimicking his movements. Yuuri wants to keep track of the little licks and nibbles and the wicked flicks of his tongue that send jolts of intense pleasure down his spine, but he soon feels dizzy and short of breath. Victor catches his bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a final lick before letting go.

He looks smug as he straightens his coat and wipes the wetness from Yuuri's lips with his thumb.

“What was that?” Yuuri rasps and clears his throat. Victor's grin widens. “Care to explain?”

“Explain what?” Victor bats his eyes and Yuuri huffs, sliding his hand over his face. “After you.”

He opens the door, holding it and gesturing out. Yuuri shakes his head as he steps onto the street. At times it's better just to accept Victor's little quirks than rattle his brain over the man's logic. 


	5. Trip(ping)

“So you wanna go?” Victor asks, his words pulling Yuuri out of sleep.

“Wha'? Go where?”

“Did you even listen?” Victor yanks the blanket off him and Yuuri mumbles in protest, curling into a ball to preserve heat. “You fell back asleep in the middle of me talking, did you not?”

Cool fingers slide up the arch of Yuuri's foot and he yelps in surprise, jerking to sit up in bed. He tucks his feet under himself for good measure, squinting at Victor.

“Ah, I'm up. I'm up!” he declares. Yuuri wipes his hand over his face to make sure there's no caked up drool.

“That's what you said a quarter of an hour ago.”

“Huh?”

“We even managed to have a decent conversation, yeah.”

“Um...” Yuuri tries to suppress a yawn. His eyes tear up. Victor appears to be impossibly fresh and awake, fully dressed and ready to meet the day. “If it was decent, perhaps we could have it again?”

Victor snickers as he plops onto the bed. Yuuri scoots over, tucking himself at Victor's side.

“So, you were saying...”

“That there's a press event and an after-party. Basically we just wanna give a couple of interviews to get people hyped for the nationals and potentially get some sponsors.” Victor's breath smells faintly of mint and Yuuri is all too aware of how he must come across. He ducks under Victor's arm and hides his face in his shirt. “It's gonna take place outside the city, some recreation complex or whatnot. We're taking the bus there and spending the night, too. Apparently, there would be sponsors willing to have breakfast with me for an extra charge.”

“Mmhm,” Yuuri agrees, lulled by the soothing rumble of Victor's voice.

“Yuuri. Are you falling asleep again?”

“Nuh. You said you'd be paid by rich people to spend time with them.”

“That's one way to put it,” Victor snorts. “Don't I feel good about myself now?” Victor's hand slips to the small of Yuuri's back and sneaks under the hem of his shirt.

“Ah! Cold!” Yuuri gasps. Icy fingers make his skin break into goosebumps.

“You know what they say. Cold hands, warm in the pants.”

“I'm pretty sure that's not how the saying goes.”

“Should we conduct an investigation to find out if it's correct?”

“Can it wait till I get out of bed?”

“I think you're missing the point. Regardless, I was hoping you could come too. Free food for everyone.”

“Sounds good.”

“Excellent. Cause I've already booked a room for you.”

“Was there any point in asking then?”

“Sure was. You said yes to me, did you not?”

“I said yes to food,” Yuuri corrects him and gets a little pinch on his side. “Ow!”

“How will you make up for the pain you've unleashed on me?”

“Hey, you were the one who pinched me.”

“Only as my pride has suffered. You do have some ideas how to soothe that burn, hmm?”

“I'll get some panthenol from the drugstore.”

“Huh.”

“So when is it?”

“We are leaving after three.”

“Then why are you up so early? It’s still hours till your practice, I bet.”

“I’m going running,” Victor says, his hand caressing the small of Yuuri’s back. “Want to join me?”

“Uhh… no, thanks. It’s too cold for me. But go ahead. You do you.”

“Why would I want that if there is someone so much better I could do.”

Yuuri tries to come up with an appropriate response but he cannot find a single reasonable argument against this point.

"Victor, what are your hands doing under my shirt?" Yuuri asks just to say something.

It’s not that he minds it. Victor’s touch feels warmer now, but his palms glide over the curve of Yuuri’s side, alarming his insecurities.

“Shh. I'm conducting a professional investigation. As your coach I'm directly responsible for the shape you're in.”

Victor coaxes Yuuri onto his back, looming over him. His weight is supported by his right arm and he squeezes his knee between Yuuri’s thighs. Meanwhile, his left hand tugs the pajama shirt up, his fingers are wide spread as if trying to cover as much skin as possible. They travel over the soft slope just under Yuuri’s navel - it’s barely there, but still way too prominent for his liking. He sucks his stomach in, but Victor doesn’t comment. He draws long swirly patterns on Yuuri’s skin, one morphing into another, gliding over his ribcage and then descending back down to stroke the softer contours of his sides soothingly.

Victor’s feverishly hot mouth presses to the column of his throat. Yuuri tilts his head back, giving better access while dry lips close around his Adam’s apple. Yuuri didn't think that part of him was particularly sensitive, but the slow nibbling is proving him wrong.  

"And how do you find my... my shape to be, mister coach?”

“Very nice.” Another kiss punctuates the praise. “Delightful,” Victor adds with a grunt, which sounds particularly obscene compared to the carefully placed kisses that seem almost chaste. “Exceeding any expectations.”

“Is that what they call role play?”

“Only when it's pretense. That's not our case.”

“Oh right. I-uh I'm getting a completely innocent check up from my coach.”

“Mhmm.”

The kisses get more impatient, developing into licking. Victor shifts lower, dipping his tongue in the dimple at the base of Yuuri’s throat. The bunched up shirt turns into a stripe of fabric, exposing him to the eye and to the touch.

Yuuri squirms and then giggles when Victor’s hair tickles his chest. His lips travel in the opposite direction of his hand, sliding lower and lower down Yuuri’s torso. The air feels cool on the damp trails Victor left on his skin. He gets more restless as the kisses gradually move south.

It’s like he’s getting more sensitive, every puff of Victor’s breath and each teasing lick result in a warm tingle collecting below his bellybutton. He wants to get more, to see how intense it could get, but at the same time he feels embarrassed to be lying there, basking in attention.

“So.... does Yakov... do that to you too, then?”

Victor grunts and jerks his head up.

“God, Yuuri, did you have to?”

The shock on his face is quite comical and Yuuri claps his hand over his mouth to muffle his snorts. The poorly hidden laughter makes Victor complain harder.

“How did you even come up with it? Why-y?” he howls, expression changing to utter grief, although his eyes gleam with merriness. "It should be illegal!"

"What, trainers feeling up their protégés?" Yuuri moves his hand away, tucking Victor’s unruly bangs behind his ear. The hair falls back the moment he stops touching it.

"No! I mean yes, that too, but I was talking about you bringing up a subject like that in bed. It's akin to verbal castration!"

"Ooh," Yuuri drawls, trying to keep a straight face.

He bites his bottom lip to prevent a grin from ruining his mock concern. He hesitates only for a second before sliding his hand between their bodies. Yuuri cups Victor's crotch lightly - not more than a second, it is bolder than anything he's done before - and Victor gasps, his eyes widening.

"I think you're just fine, mister pervy coach," Yuuri teases. Victor continues to gape at him and Yuuri gently taps his index finger under the man’s chin. Victor’s teeth click together as his jaw ~~s~~ snap shut, but he doesn’t stay quiet for long.

"I'm miraculously cured," he breathes. “All hail the healing powers of Yuuri’s hands. But just to make sure it worked and cement the results...”

Victor’s tongue quickly darts out to wet the seam of his mouth. He leans forward and his damp lips cover Yuuri’s, before Yuuri has a chance to pick on the odd choice of words.

"Mrph Victor," Yuuri attempts to protest, weakly trying to push him off.

"What is it?” Victor pulls away to check for the reason of this interruption, but his hips move forward as if to make up for the loss of contact.

"M-orning breath."

"I've brushed my teeth."

"I'm talking about mine! "

"Like I care."

This time Yuuri relaxes a little, eagerly parting his lips to deepen the kiss. He arches up, pushing against Victor with equal force. His hand presses between Victor’s shoulder blades, coaxing him even closer. The soft fabric of Victor’s shirt rubs against his skin, adding a different stimuli to the whirl of sensations. Yuuri hazily thinks he would never get enough of this - the kisses and the measured caresses slowly igniting a burning itch that cannot be satiated.

“I’ll be late,” Victor mumbles. He doesn’t hesitate to initiate another kiss, swiping his tongue around Yuuri’s in a way that makes his toes curl. “Schedule,” he croaks, lips pinching and tugging Yuuri’s bottom lip until it pops out of his mouth, “is important.”

“I can tell I’m making it hard for you to stick to it.”

“Oh. _So_ hard,” Victor complains, punctuating his words with a wiggle of his hips that causes the length of his cock to dig harder into Yuuri’s thigh. His voice thickens together with his accent, his R coming out as with a low rumble. “Could you repeat your point about the ‘sticking in’ part?”

“Sticking _to_ it. To the _schedule_. Get your mind out of the gutter.” Victor sucks a breath in and Yuuri presses a finger to his mouth. “Oh no you don’t. No jokes about getting things in or flipping something out.”

The corners of Victor’s eye crinkle up as he grins. He gives Yuuri’s digit a wet lick and Yuuri jerks it back in surprise.

“I wasn’t going to, but I’ll save those puns for later,” he promises and Yuuri clicks his tongue. He wipes his saliva covered finger on Victor’s shirt.

“Go for your run. We have time for everything else later tonight”.

“Tonight?” Victor drawls meaningfully and Yuuri huffs.

“Go! Don’t get your hopes - or anything else - up.”

“Ha. Too late for that, wouldn’t you say?” Victor rolls off him and folds his arms behind his head. “Just give me a moment.”

Yuuri straightens his pajama shirt, partially to pull it over his own crotch. Victor cannot be bothered, through. The bulge in his sweatpants seems even more prominent against the sunken in stomach and Yuuri can clearly see the outline of his cock through the fabric. He places his hand on Victor’s thigh, both fascinated and curious. He moves his fingers up, the tips coming to rest just under Victor’s crotch.

“Yuuri.” Victor utters, “You are not helping.”

Yuuri feels a surge of heat rush to his face.

“Ah, sorry.”

Victor clasps his hand and Yuuri is certain he’ll guide it on top of his cock, cutting the doubts and the teasing. Yet Victor puts it to his lips, leaving a string of dry kisses from the open palm to the fluttering pulse point of his wrist.

“Apologies are redundant. You can touch me anywhere you please, but if you’re going to proceed now, I won’t hold back anymore.”

“Have you?” Yuuri asks, thinking of constant touches and blunt word play.

“You have no idea,” Victor replies, looking dead serious. He gives Yuuri’s fingers a squeeze, sighs and sits up. “This shirt,” he pokes himself in the chest, “is not the only blue thing I’ve had on me for a while.”

“My goodness, Victor!” Yuuri hides his face in his hands, giggling nervously. “You’re just…”

“Deliciously unprecedentedly clever?”

“And so, so modest.”

“Witty Vitya strikes again.”

“But doesn’t _score_.”

“Ooh you little monster!”

“I’ve learned from the best. Or, in this case, the worst.”

“That’s it, Yuuri, you pushed it too far,“ Victor declares menacingly. He pounces on him, making Yuuri shriek with laughter. Victor’s quick fingers know no mercy, slipping through Yuuri’s defense to tickle him. Yuuri clenches his arms over his chest, shielding his ribs. They both end up breathless, Victor sprawled on top of him once again.

“I see a recurring pattern here, coach Nikiforov,” Yuuri observes. Victor replies with a grunt.

“I swear that wasn’t intentional.”

“Sure,” Yuuri adds sardonically.

“A monster indeed.”

Victor gives him a thorough look as if seeing him for the first time.

“You woke a lion in his den,” Yuuri protests. “I was sleeping and harmless until you stirred me up.”

“Did I accidentally unlock the sassy Yuuri?”

“It’s defensive Yuuri who suffered tickling abuse.”

“Aw, should I kiss it better?”

“Victor. Your jog or whatever awaits.”

“Yes, yes, fine.” Victor gives him a wistful sigh but moves off him without arguing. “How’s your knee? Do you want to go to the practice or skip it?”

“I should go,” Yuuri offers reluctantly. He didn’t get physically hurt as much as he feels he let himself - and Victor - down in front of everyone. He suspects they came to see if he is living up to expectations. Whatever special talent drew Victor to him had to once again be proven to his skate mates, who would be no less meticulous in their assessment as judges at professional competitions. Perhaps, today he can do better.

“I’ll pick you up then,” Victor concludes, sliding off the bed and stretching, arms over his head. “One way or the other, the bus leaves from the rink.”

***

Yuuri finds the Petersburg subway system terrifying. The river of people pushes and crashes into him, no one bothering to stop to mutter an apology. There is nothing unusual about the crowd, but he begins to feel that the shoves and nudges are intentional. An old lady dragging some weird mix of a bag on wheels and a cart runs over Yuuri’s foot. He hisses in pain but nevertheless gives her a “ _sorry_ ” - receiving a disgusted look in return. Yuuri almost feels guilty for being in her way and scatters away as she shouts something to his back.

His foot throbs and he has to quickly maneuver around to avoid another collision. Yuuri trips over the ridge at the car’s entrance but Victor catches him, clasping his arm to help him maintain his balance but releasing him as soon as Yuuri is back on his feet. Victor’s face is calm. He seems untroubled and shows no signs of irritation even as people squeeze in the coach behind Yuuri and push him against Victor. It could pass for a passionate embrace if not for something sharp pressing into the small of Yuuri’s back. He wishes he hadn’t taken his backpack off when getting in and really hopes it’s a stiff closure of a purse digging into him instead of a sheathed knife.

Yuuri tries to get as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. He looks up at Victor. As if sensing that, the man lowers his head and they nearly bump noses together. Victor turns away quickly, lifting his chin and fixing his eyes on a screen with the flashing announcements of station names. Odd letters glow and change to form even longer words. The doors hiss open and people pour in and out. A deep male voice delivers a little speech right after the coach doors snap shut, but Yuuri can’t tell what it’s about. Everyone around him maintains the same expressionless faces, the only change being a frown when someone catches him looking. He could be biased, of course, but most of them appear angry or upset. Yuuri decides there is no excuse in the world for him to make a subway ride on his own instead of walking.

He relaxes a little, choosing to use the crowd’s push as an excuse to lean against Victor. The ride is not smooth, the train keeps jerking as it starts moving, the floors vibrate and shake as it comes to an abrupt stop.

“Hold onto something,” Victor prompts, unmovable as a statue. It’s easier said than done. The closest available railing is more than an arm’s length away. Yuuri puts his feet further apart, hoping it will make his pose more solid. It helps a little although he grabs onto Victor’s coat once or twice to steady himself. The tip of his nose is an inch away from Victor’s scarf and he inhales deeply. The lingering scent of his cologne calms him and he closes his eyes and rocks up and down as the car rattles and bounces  through the tunnel.

“We are getting off at the next one,” Victor informs him.

Yuuri is surprised to find that this station is different from the one they got on. It looks like it is decorated in pale green marble. The high ceiling is supported by columns and when Yuuri tilts his head to look up, he discovers intricately decorated chandeliers glowing with dozens of light bulbs shaped to resemble candles.

“Are they all different?”

“Are what different?” Victor asks, gently nudging Yuuri towards the exit. He is either unaffected by the imposing beauty of the station or too used to it to notice it.

“The platforms. Their decoration.”

“But of course,” Victor replies as if it was the most natural thing to splurge on marble floors and golden chandeliers that would be more appropriate for a ballroom. “In fact…”

Yuuri doesn’t get to discover what fact Victor was referring to. His explanation is interrupted by a girl. She asks Victor something in Russian and his answer seems to be affirmative. She stutters through another question and Victor’s smile grows bigger. She’s a fan, Yuuri realizes, watching her fumble with her phone. The top of her head barely reaches Victor’s chest and the girl’s hand quivers so visibly that it’s no wonder she can’t get a decent angle for a shot. Victor says something to her in a hushed voice, flustering her even more. She’s a mess, Yuuri thinks not without sympathy. He’s aware that he would be just as star struck and shaken were he to bump into Victor a year ago.

He thinks he should interfere and offer to take their picture together. The girl pays him no mind but it’s unsurprising. She may have not even registered his presence. Victor outshines everything and he is clearly enjoying himself. Her round eyes are fixed on his face, small lips parted as she catches his every word, every small move. Victor takes the phone out of her hand confidently, his thumb deliberately swiping across the back of her hand. Yuuri finds the move completely unnecessary, growing uneasy as he watches Victor perform his subtle flirtatious exercise.

He half-squats to get to the girl’s level, going as far as pressing his cheek to her face. He snaps several shots, changing his expression from thoughtful to smiling to goofy. Victor is oozing charm, making the girl the center of his attention for several minutes. He thrills and utterly conquers her when he puts the phone back into her hand, cradling it with both of his and raising it to his lips. He doesn’t kiss her hand as she squeaks and tries to pull it out from his grip, but the gesture alone is enough to make her swoon. She nearly drops her phone, blurts something out and Victor laughs. He’s clearly having a good time. He completely forgets about Yuuri, not once looking at him. Yuuri’s name does not pop up in their clumsy conversation. Well, it’s Victor doing most of the talking but it does not occur to him to introduce Yuuri or acknowledge his presence.

Yuuri should not be seeing too much in this. The girl’s prettiest feature is her hair, long and flowing, the colour of amber or dark honey. She fumbles with it, tucking it behind her ear and then releasing the locks only to do the same thing over again. He understands it’s an inevitable part of being famous and Victor most likely will forget her name and the whole encounter in half an hour, tops. Yet jealousy stirs in him, tightening its grip around his heart. Yuuri grits his teeth together, hoping that at least he appears to be calm.

The girl finally leaves, turning to glance back several times. Victor waves at her but when she turns for the third time, he presses the tips of his fingers to his lips and blows her a kiss.

“Okay, that’s too much, don’t you think?” Yuuri tugs on his sleeve, lowering his arm. Victor turns to him, his features softening a bit into a less posed picture-ready face.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he replies lightly and Yuuri huffs. “I was just being friendly with a fan.”

“Great. Now you can stop.”

“What’s wrong with being polite?”

“Victor,” Yuuri doesn’t know where to begin. He wouldn’t want to spoil his mood by accusing him of being flirty. It’s best he wasn’t introduced as he’d be incredibly awkward at small talk and probably stutter worse than she. If Victor enjoys that kind of attention and Yuuri got away from being pushed to socialize, there should be no harm in it.

“Yes?” Victor prompts as Yuuri never finishes his sentence.

“Let’s just go.”

“As you command,” Victor agrees light-heartedly. Yuuri purses his lips. The jealousy sinks its claws deeper into him, but he tries to block it.

The rink is deserted, wrapped in a veil of thick silence.

“Is Mila alright?” Yuuri asks. His question echoes around the area. He adds in a quieter voice, “She didn’t get sick, I hope?”

“Nah, I bet she’s doing her hair or make up for the interview.”

“Wait, is it gonna be that formal of an event?”

Victor gives him an odd look.

“What do you mean?”

“Where everyone is in either a tuxedo or an evening gown.”

“I was going for the first option but I’d give it to Mila to arrive in a costume. Why?”

“Because I’ve packed just my sweater, jeans and a toothbrush!”

“Are you taking the toothbrush to the interview too?” Victor taunts, but Yuuri does not crack a smile.

“I must go back and get something appropriate to wear.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve packed lots of extra clothes.” Victor dismisses his concerns with a wave of his hand. “Shirts, ties, several jackets. I’ll find something for you.”

“Packed? Where?” Yuuri doesn’t recall him packing anything. He is pretty positive Victor left the apartment empty-handed.

“In a suitcase.” Victor catches his quizzical look. “I bought it here with me in the morning. Got everything while you slept.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. That was very considerate of you.”

“As always.”

“And unusually thoughtful.”

“Careful. I won’t hesitate to win another tickle fight.” Victor shakes a finger at him and Yuuri raises his arms defensively.

“Alright, alright, stay where you are.”

“Now that you’ve said it, I think I might join you. Be right back.”

They end up skating together but it takes a good quarter of an hour for Yuuri to stop getting distracted by Victor’s touches when his movements are being corrected and actually focus on what he’s being shown. When he lands the Lutz on his fifth attempt, clean and smooth despite the sweat dripping down the sides of his face, Victor claps his hands together, face glowing with pride.

“It’s just a Lutz; I’ve landed it before,” Yuuri mumbles, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“It was perfect! Like I knew it would be!”

“Huh.” Yuuri can’t grasp what made Victor so outspoken and excited but he surely won’t keep advising him not to be. He has enjoyed this practice a lot more, although he wouldn’t expect Victor to skate with him every time. It must be exhausting.

Yuuri heads to the locker room when a sudden thought strikes him.

“Victor! If we are coming back only tomorrow afternoon, who’s gonna look after Makka? He needs to be let out in the evening and in the morning. I think I should stay with him then.”

“Martha will take care of him.”

“Who’s that?”

“The cleaning lady.”

“You have a maid?”

“You could call her that, I suppose.”

“How come I’ve never seen her?”

“’Cause I gave her a little break. I thought she’d make you uncomfortable.”

“Are you hiding her from me?” Yuuri chuckles. “Or me from her?”

He meant it as a joke but Victor scowls.

“I am not… hiding anyone,” he snaps back, a lot more forcefully than required. These are the right words but something about them is off. Yuuri tries to pin point what it is that does not sit well with him, but his train of thought is interrupted.

“Let’s go. I don’t want people to wait for us.”

“Yeah. I'll hop in the shower real quick.”

They do end up waiting for Yakov on the bus. The man brings Yurio with him, letting the boy in first. He waves at the driver to start the engine and slowly begins working his way between the seats, pushing his body through the narrow space with visible effort.

“Ah, our Twix sticks,” he exclaims as he aligned with Yuuri and Victor, his rusty voice coming through over the purr of the motor. “Inseparable and sweet enough to give you diabetes.”

Yuuri smiles hesitantly, uncertain whether to take it as a joke or an insult. It could be either or both on equal measure.

“Yuuri, move. I need to talk with this shalopai.”

“Yakov,” Victor interferes, voice hard.

“Vitya,” the man returns, mirroring his intonation to a pinch. “You promised.”

“Yuuri!” Mila shouts from the back and he turns his head. Her make up is bright, the shade of red on her lips matching her hair perfectly. She gives Georgiy, sitting to her left, a push. “Come sit with me! I didn’t want Gosha in this place anyway.”

“Your words give pain,” Georgiy whines, clenching his hand to his chest. “Nothing will restore my heart.”

“Oh come on, you big baby,” Mila giggles, sneaking her arm around his shoulder and giving the man several pats. “You know it’s all in good fun.”

“Fun at the cost of pain to Gosha?”

“Sorry, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Mila smacks her lips on Georgiy’s cheek.

“Aaah no!” Georgiy screams. “Did that leave mark? Did it?”

“Idiot,” Yurio hisses from the back seat, making sure he’s heard by everyone.

“Shut it, child. Why you even here? I do not remember you were invited,” Georgiy complains.

“If anyone is here by mistake, it’s you.” Yurio flips him off for good measure.

“Yurchik, one day that finger of yours shall be broken. And I shall hope the one to do it is I.”

Yuuri shudders at their exchange of pleasantries.

“I’ll go sit in back,” he says to no one in particular.

Yurio is sprawled in the middle of the four back seats, his feet propped against the window. Georgiy and he switch to Russian, continuing to argue lazily, the pauses getting longer as they run out of insults. No one pays them any mind nor asks them to stop. Yuuri decides not to interfere as well. He slides into the seat to his left, leaving some room between himself and Yurio. Georgiy gets up and joins them, plopping onto the unoccupied seat.

“Yuuri,” he greets him, stretching out his palm. Yuuri gives it a shake, a bit puzzled as to why it has to be so formal. “So, I told you that Anya…”

“Oh not this shit again,” Yurio groans. “You’ve dated for like three months, get over it.”

“Three months and two and half weeks,” Georgiy corrects him, pulling his phone out. “And I speak not with you.”

“Thank God for that!” Yurio rolls his eyes. He fetches a pair of ear buds out of his pocket and connects them to his phone. When he turns the music on, it is loud enough to reach Yuuri’s ears.

“You think he become deaf soon?” Georgiy sneers. “Anyways, as I say…”

By the end of the trip Yuuri feels he will have known everything there is to know about Anya - from her favourite movie to how she prefers morning tea to coffee to the full names of her parents and grandparents - even though it’s difficult to comprehend Georgiy’s speech at times. He twists the words around, putting them in the wrong order or ditching some of the verbs. His accent is so thick that at times Yuuri can only guess what he meant to say. The general story is pretty clear - he loved her, Anya left him, and it’s taking Georgiy forever to process and accept that fact. But when he wins the gold, Anya will realize her mistake and return to him.

Yuuri nods and hums in agreement, looking at Georgiy’s phone as the man flips through her pictures. He throws occasional glances in Victor’s direction - he can see the top of his head peeking over the back of the seat - but he doesn’t turn around to check on Yuuri. Georgiy ends every second sentence with “you know?” and Yuuri hopes his incoherent mumbling could pass for reassurance. It’s not like the man needs any advice. Yuuri develops a throbbing headache from all the information that is dumped on him and the non-stop rattling on the bus. He rubs his temples in an attempt to ease it up somewhat. His phone jiggles in his pocket.

“ _Just tell him to stop or he’ll go on for hours.”_

Victor has a point. Half an hour in Georgiy shows no signs of tiring. They have not even left the city yet, moving through the stream of cars at a snail’s pace.

“ _Want me to do it for you?”_

Yuuri contemplates the idea for a second.

“ _Don’t. It’s fine”_

“You know.” Georgiy ends his story after having scrolled through a hundred of pictures, no less. He locks his phone with a click of a button and looks at Yuuri expectantly.

“Um… yeah?” Yuuri offers and that must be the right answer. Georgiy grins and smacks his hand on Yuuri’s knee, making him jump in surprise.

“I knew you’d understand! Dude, you are real man in spite of everything. Respect!”

“Sorry. Despite what?” Yuuri asks.

“Ah,” Georgiy chews on his lip. Yuuri desperately hopes he will not give him another “ _you know.”_

“Your deviations.”

Yuuri frowns, lost as to what the man is referring to. It sounds like a medical condition, but the only thing that comes to mind is his myopia. He has noticed people wearing glasses around there, but he didn’t imagine it to be a gender issue, or any sort of issue, for that matter.

“Erm… Thanks. I guess.”

A few more awkward minutes pass before they finally arrive. Yurio pushes in front of Yuuri to exit first. Yuuri sees Victor waiting for him outside but his reserved smile turns into a grimace when Yurio jumps off the bus steps and lands right on Victor’s foot. Victor shuts his eyes and sucks in a long breath. He doesn’t utter a single word, which Yuuri finds remarkable. He wants to say something that would make Victor feel better, but he’s worried it may embarrass him in front of everyone.

Georgiy gets out before Mila, offering the girl his hand to help her down. He picks up his bag and swings it forward, smacking Yurio’s behind.

“Oh, I am so sorry for that accident,” he says mockingly. Yurio clenches his fists but Yakov grabs him by the shoulder, keeping the boy in place.

“Break it off, you two,” he growls. “If either of you - I repeat, _either_ of you - does anything stupid during the interview... Scratch that. If I see you within two meters of each other tonight, I'm resigning. And rest assured, no coach will take you after I give you my characterization.” Yakov’s eyes shift from stunned Georgiy to Yurio, who grows very quiet. “I’m so sick of you. Like having one selfish brat in the team wasn’t enough!” His nostrils flare and he shoots Victor a look from under his brows. “Mila, let’s go. I don’t know what’s up with this lot, but in case it’s contagious, I’d rather keep you away.”

“Good job,” Georgiy mutters through his teeth. “Did you have to piss him off?”

“ _I_ pissed him off?” Yurio hisses, keeping his voice hushed so that he’s not heard. “You hit me. That’s child abuse.”

“Aha! So you admit you are a child!”

“I do not!”

“But you say…”

“Clean your ears, you bad Elvis double.”

“You deserve a kick!”

Victor facepalms. He releases a long sigh, shakes his head and moves to the end of the bus to pull a suitcase out of the trunk.

“Let’s go.” He motions for Yuuri to follow him and squeezes between the bickering couple. “Excuse me, excuse me, make way, please and thank you,” he chirps over the rustle of the plastic wheels of the suitcase scraping on the ground.

Yuuri doesn’t risk walking in his footsteps and makes an arch to pass behind Georgiy. He has to skip to align with Victor.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I am lucky that kid is all skin and bones. No serious damage done. Yet,” he adds grimly.

“Still… what got into him?”

 

Victor raises his eyebrows.

“As if you didn’t know.”

“But I don’t! Why else would I ask?”

“Oh Yuuri,” Victor murmurs. He gives no explanation and Yuuri feels like there’s something happening right under his nose yet he cannot figure out what it is.

“Victor! Tell me!”

“Later.”

They enter the lobby of the hotel. The girl at the reception has her hair pulled up in a bun so tightly it looks painful. Her painted lips twist in a practiced greeting smile which instantly makes Yuuri feel unwelcome. Victor leans over the counter slightly, propping his chin on his arm. He speaks to her softly and the girl loses some of the unpleasant plastic glamour. By the time she is done punching the information into her computer and handing Victor a folder with plastic cards, her grin is almost genuine.

“This way,” Victor looks over his shoulder to make sure Yuuri is following him. They get into the elevator and when it stops, Victor gestures for Yuuri to step out first. He slides the plastic room key into the automated lock and pulls it right out after there is a faint click and a flash of green light.

“There you go,” Victor announces as Yuuri puts his backpack at the foot of the bed. “Your room.”

“Victor.” Yuuri turns to him, refusing to believe what he has just heard. “What do you mean, my room?” There is a sinking feeling in his stomach and the tips of his fingers turn cold. “Why… did you get yourself a separate room?”

Victor shrugs the question off as if it was the most mundane thing.

“You know, for convenience,” he explains. Yuuri’s mouth tastes bitter. He stares at Victor, trying to process how the same man could joke around with him in the morning and do _this_ a couple hours later. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it. Victor must have made the reservation several days ago, so it’s not something he did today. Was it after his bad practice? But then, if Victor didn’t want him here, he could simply say he had to leave and not invite him over.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it?”

“Do I _like_ it?” Yuuri’s voice breaks, jumping up a pitch and he winces. He sounds hysterical and he lowers himself on the bed, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Yuuri!” Victor gives the door a push, snapping it shut. Yuuri wants to ask him to stop calling his name but his throat clenches and he doesn’t trust himself to be able to deliver a proper comeback. Victor pulls his into his arms, which only causes Yuuri to tense up more.

“I… I thought it would be better this way. I got myself an identical room just next to yours.” Yuuri whimpers and Victor’s grip on him tightens. The arm of his glasses digs into his face on one side as it gets pressed into Victor’s chest, but he doesn’t move. “They are joined. You can come sleep in my room if… if you prefer.” Victor gives him a gentle shake. “Come on now,” he takes Yuuri’s glasses off and cups his face. Yuuri shuts his eyes, he doesn’t want to look at him now, he cannot bear looking at him now.

“Yuuri,” Victor repeats, his tone begging. “It’s not like _that_.” He presses light kisses to Yuuri’s cheekbones and lids and brows, causing his heart to skip a beat. “I’m sorry it came out like that. Well, fuck!”

The curse makes Yuuri snap out of his trance.

“Victor,” he gasps, eyes flying open. He has never heard the man swear, not in front of anyone. “Language!”

“Desperate times,” Victor scowls. “Ugh. Can we pretend this never happened? Please.” Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek and, seeing his hesitation, Victor rushes to add “I will beg for forgiveness as long as it takes. I’ll crawl on my knees as long as needed.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri sighs as he indeed drops onto the floor. “What are you doing? Get up.”

“No.” Victor clasps Yuuri's hands, raising his head to look up at him, eyes searching his face to detect the smallest shift in his mood. “I am not getting up until I’m forgiven.”

“Is this emotional blackmail?” Yuuri asks tiredly.

“No. Ugh. Yuuri,” Victor looks completely lost. “I want you to forgive me but only if you can. I am not forcing you do to it because you think you should do it, it’s just... Gah.” He bangs his head against Yuuri’s knees, a picture of remorse. “I’m so bad at this,” he whines and Yuuri cracks a lopsided smile.

“I’ve noticed.”

“Yuuri-i.”

“Yes?”

“Would it be too much of you to ask you to kiss me now?”

“A terrible burden.”

“You...you don’t have to.” It’s unusual to see Victor hesitating and Yuuri’s heart melts. He gives up. He has never been able to keep a grudge for long, unless it involved being upset with himself.

“Fine. But don’t make a habit out of this,” he warns and gives Victor’s puckered lips a quick smack.

“Another one.”

“Wow, going from asking to bossing me around in a second.”

“Please.”

“Greedy, aren’t we?”

“Addicted,” Victor adds impatiently. Despite the carefree tone he still looks worried. Yuuri senses that if he were to refuse, Victor would not take that blow lightly.

“So, _a_ kiss, right?”

“At least,” the man bargains.

Yuuri puts his hands on Victor’s shoulder and leans forward. He gives his lips a cautious touch. Victor’s mouth remains soft and pliable. He’s not trying to grab the initiative, choosing to follow Yuuri’s lead. He makes an impatient little whimper when Yuuri keeps it light and sweet, no more than an innocent touch of dry lips. Victor stretches his neck, trying to prolong the contact. He looks so vulnerable and needy and beautiful that Yuuri’s heart throbs. He feels like he’s the one playing with Victor’s emotions now and Yuuri closes his eyes and ducks for another kiss to prevent this idea from lingering.

Victor’s hands stroke the nape of Yuuri’s neck. The movements remain light, as if Victor is trying not to spook him, allowing him time to get used to his touch.

“You don’t want to get all worked up before your interview, do you?” Yuuri hums, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against Victor’s.

“Does it mean I could get wound up _after_ it?”

“Did I say that?”

“No. But I wish you did.”

“Victo-or,” Yuuri grunts and his exasperation is met by a proud chuckle. “How do you even read so much into my words?”

“Practice. And wishful thinking.”

“Uh huh. Don’t you need to get ready? Go over your speech or something?”

“I’ll improvise.”

“Of course you will.”

“Seriously though. You know I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

“Right,” Yuuri agrees. Victor bounces up, placing a kiss to the crown of Yuuri’s head before fetching his suitcase and leaving. Yuuri falls onto his back on the bed, spreading his arms out. He hears the bang of the door being pushed open and he guesses it to be the entrance to Victor’s room through his own. He feels drained. Victor is moving around, making noises and humming something under his breath.

Yuuri believed his words about not having any intentions to hurt him. He turns onto his side, curling into a ball. The problem is that Victor could be just as successful at shattering him without carrying that idea in mind. Yuuri shuts his eyes hard enough for the prickly white stars to appear. He watches them dance and fall down on the back of his lids and makes a wish for that thought to perish.


	6. Suit(able)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just cause I forgot to mention - "Stammi Vicino" skate didn't happen in this... "universe", I guess.

Yuuri hears the buzz of the suitcase being unzipped and pulls himself up on the bed. He lacks motivation to do anything but it feels wrong to be in bed while Victor is bouncing around next door, full of zealousness and excitement.

“What do you think?”

Victor pops back into the room. He has freed two suits out of the bag and thrusts them forward for Yuuri to inspect. They appear to be almost identical, both in style and the shade of grey. Well, perhaps one of them is lighter, but not to the extent to allow Yuuri to distinguish between them had Victor not asked.

“Uh…”

“Porpoise or anchor?”

“Is the first one even a legit word?”

“Naturally. So which one?”

“Does it matter?” Yuuri shrugs. “You will look fantastic in either. Or neither.” Victor grins at the flattery but continues to look at him expectantly and Yuuri suppresses a sigh. “The one on the left.”

“Alright.”

Victor smooths the suit on the bed next to Yuuri and darts out to put away the other one. He returns with a shirt and places it on top of the jacket. He adds a tie to the ensemble, the deep purple of the fabric complementing the lighter hue of the shirt.

“Now, I was thinking the grey and green combination would look amazing on you. Or if you want, we could go for reverse matching…” Victor cuts himself off, shooting Yuuri a worried glance. “What’s wrong?”

Yuuri shakes his head, managing to plaster a weak smile onto his face.

“Nothing. You know that dressing up does not get me excited.”

“Ooh,” Victor drawls, lowering his voice to a playful purr.

“Don’t,” Yuuri warns him, but his lips involuntarily curl into another smile, this time genuine.

“Don’t what?” The emphasized innocence in Victor’s tone would not fool even a baby.

“You know,” Yuuri vaguely flicks his hand in the air. “Do your thing. Try to fluster me.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“Well, let's just say I could always rely on you to ask if undressing would get me excited or something.”

“But you started this topic by saying I would look great without clothes.”

“No, what I meant was that you could go just as you are and still be the center of everyone’s attention.”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing,” Victor murmurs.

“No. Sorry. I’m just… tired, I suppose.”

“Want me to leave and let you rest?” Contrary to his words, Victor leans his head onto Yuuri’s shoulder, rubbing his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

Yuuri slips his hand into Victor’s palm, carding their fingers together. The pad of his finger presses against the smooth warm surface of Victor’s ring and Yuuri strokes it, pushing the band around the digit.

“Nah, it’s fine. We can just sit here for a while.”

Yuuri closes his eyes, enjoying the proximity and the weight of Victor’s head on his shoulder. He is grateful that the man doesn’t attempt to initiate conversation. He can feel Victor’s chest expand and fall, subtle movements against his side calming Yuuri. He concentrates on evening out his breaths, matching the slow steady pace of Victor's  exhalations . Yuuri tells himself not to think of what’s to come - either in a couple of hours or couple of days. Right now he is confident that Victor is his - open, affectionate and relaxed. He does not know if that version of the man reflects his true nature or is just what Yuuri prefers to believe him to be. When Victor steps out of that room, he will change appearances. He will be still approachable, but equally smiling and charming for everyone. The softer, genuine side of him will be shoved back in the shadows. Yuuri is ashamed of thinking that the Victor the public adores is fake. After all, he was the one who fell for that exact image too. 

He doesn’t want to share the “domestic” Victor with others and yet… Yuuri tries to grasp the elusive idea that nags him, but it keeps lurking in the back of his head. Something is amiss but he cannot explain it even to himself, let alone speak up. It's as if he wanted the world to acknowledge that Victor no longer belongs to them while keeping their relationship secret.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Victor offers. “Just come to the reception afterwards. You would probably be bored out of your mind during the interview – even if you spoke Russian.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize you would not be speaking English.”

“I could, but then I'd be called a show-off.”

Yuuri bites the tip of his tongue, holding back an arrogant “ _ aren’t you?”  _ He shouldn't be mean like that, even in his thoughts, just because he's feeling low.

“Do you want me to do your hair?” Victor questions. He carefully pulls on Yuuri’s bangs to see how far they  will go. The hair reaches down just below the bridge of Yuuri’s nose but he is holding back on a cut. He likes to comb it down, hiding most of his forehead and shielding himself from the occasional glances. Yuuri sighs. There really isn’t anything for him to feel uneasy about, yet the tightness in his chest makes it difficult to concentrate on anything other than tracing back to find the cause and make it stop.

“Poor thing, you can't get me out of your hair,” Victor jokes, most likely interpreting his sigh as  reluctance to accept his offer. 

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“Don't,” Victor pleads, tightening his grip around Yuuri's middle. Caught off-guard, Yuuri wheezes and pats Victor's hand in an answer to a muttered apology.

“Don't what?” Yuuri asks.

“Stop doing things cause you think they'll make  _ me _ happy.”

“Are you?” Yuuri didn't intend it to sound so bitter. The words leave a foul aftertaste in his mouth. There's desperation in them and blunt weakness. Although he regrets letting them slip, he realizes that's exactly what has been bothering him. He doesn't know if he's enough. Victor's image, polished to perfection by Yuuri's admiration of him since  his very childhood is a constant reminder of how far out of Victor's league he is. In fact, there is no league for Victor Nikiforov, a stand-alone wonder.

“Is there any contradictory evidence?”

The words don't soothe Yuuri's doubts. A direct reply would be much easier to interpret, and while he did get a response, Victor's question casts the shadow of uncertainty.

“Yuuri,” Victor hums against his skin, dry lips gliding along his neck. “Yurochka,” he adds, his accent laid thicker as he pronounces the name in  a Russian manner. “Ya ot tebya bez uma,a razve bezumets mozhet byt' neschastliv?”

The rumble of his voice sends a surge of thrill down Yuuri's spine. Victor nips on his ear, warm puffs of breath making the hair on the back of Yuuri's neck stand on end. 

“What was that?” His question is paid no mind as marking his neck with kisses was apparently moved to the top of the man's priorities. “Victor,” he demands.

“M’yeah?”

“What does it mean?”

“Can’t I retain an aura of mystery around myself?”

Yuuri bites his lower lip. He can’t believe Victor is unaware of how much of a puzzle he already is. The man keeps placing the deliberately unhurried kisses to the column of Yuuri’s throat. They are ticklish and remain reserved, the pressure of parted lips delicate and effortless. There is nothing even remotely suggestive about them, which somehow adds to their intimacy. Victor’s mouth travels over his skin so subtly, as if it was the most natural and mundane thing in the world. 

“How would you like to hear me switch to Japanese every now and then and refuse to explain it?”

“Oh,” Victor mumbles into the crook of his neck, the wistfulness of his voice still coming through. “I would like it very much.”

Yuuri’s brows rise up skeptically even though Victor is too preoccupied to appreciate the gesture.

“If I was less refined, I’d let you know you could be a real pain in the butt.”

Victor giggles softly and shifts back onto the bed to face Yuuri.

“And had  _ I _ been less polite, I’d give a very inappropriate comeback to that sentence.”

His eyes crinkle up from the contained laughter. He looks too mischievous for Yuuri to take these words to heart. Yuuri snickers, shaking his head. The uneasiness finally loosens its grip around his heart and he looks back at Victor, just as daring.

“What would it be, then?” he challenges, mimicking innocence. Despite Victor’s bold statement, he doesn't deliver the joke. Delicate blush taints the man’s cheekbones and Yuuri feels ridiculously smug for making him flustered – especially since it was his own attempt to throw Yuuri off with a suggestive pun. He enjoys this newly acquired power and stretches it further. “Hmm? Is witty Vitya at a loss for words?”

“It was stupid  anyway ,” Victor utters. He looks down at their joined hands, caressing the protruding knuckles on the back of Yuuri’s palm with his fingertips. “I wouldn't… I mean not if you…” Victor jerks his head. His words collide with each other, too hurried to stick together in a clumsy sentence. Victor sucks in a breath and tries again. “How did I manage to talk myself into a corner?”

“Mostly likely it's your warm up before the interview.”

“Ha. You know I’ll do great. As always.”

“Always is such a strong word.”

“I will stick to my statement until proven otherwise.”   
"I'm not going to try to do that," Yuuri informs him and Victor pushes his bottom lip forward in a pout.

"No fun."

"I wouldn't want my deeply hidden nerd vibe to be uncovered. I may," Yuuri gives him a meaningful glance, "or may  _ not _ know most of your interviews by heart."

"Is that so?" Victor appears to be more impressed than flattered. 

"I said I might, but you won't get more than that."

"What about those in Russian?"

"Touche. Those I can't quote."

Victor's eyes  study him. Yuuri thinks that perhaps he should have kept it to himself. If he is asked how long he had been crushing on him, Yuuri  would burn up with embarrassment. 

"What is it?" he blurts out when Victor's silence stretches beyond being comfortable. "Do you find it to be pathetic?"

"No way. I'm worried about how much catching up I've got to do. I confess I haven't seen any interview of you prior to Sochi."

"Please don't look those up," Yuuri grunts. Victor's mouth curls into a smile that promises he'll do exactly the opposite. Yuuri fidgets. "For real. I was an ugly teen."

_ "Not that much has changed since then" _ , he mentally adds. There's no need to point out what Victor is able to see. Besides, it'd call for polite reassurance and he'd rather not have his face and body  analyzed in a search of something positive. 

"I find it difficult to believe," Victor argues softly, his eyes kind. "I bet you were adorable. And said the most endearing things."

"You'd lose that bet. My face resembled a moon both in shape and the bumpy landscape."

"That's quite poetic," Victor grins as he cups Yuuri's face and nudges his cheeks with his nose, rubbing the tip of it against the clean shaven skin. Yuuri's eyelids flutter shut. He gives into the comforting touch, tilting his head slightly to the side  and into the warmth of Victor's palm. 

"I wouldn't refer to acne as poetic," Yuuri replies. "If you dig deep into Phichit's Instagram, you will uncover some horror."

Victor's huff in response tickles his face.

"I'm a man on a mission now. Nothing you say will cause me to abandon it."

Yuuri groans and opens his eyes. It's hard to focus on Victor's face since the man is so close . Yuuri leans back a bit to be able to see him properly.

"How long is your interview panel tonight, exactly?"

Victor blinks in surprise.

“Not sure. Forty minutes to an hour and a half, I'd guess.”

“So I've got approximately an hour to erase all online evidence of my previous existence.”

"Would you leave me without a treat after my exhausting promo session?" Victor drops in a low voice, making it sound like taking pictures and socializing is a chore for him. "I demand compensation."

"On what grounds? I haven't done anything."

"Exactly. Where's my good luck kiss?"

Yuuri doesn't try to comprehend the reasoning for this argument. He doubts Victor has ever believed in luck, especially that kind that comes from a kiss. Nevertheless, his stomach flutters at the idea of Victor craving his attention. Yuuri can't help feeling proud but also a bit concerned. Since Victor keeps encouraging him to touch, jokingly or more subtly, it means that he's not getting enough of it. 

Looking back, it's always Victor who initiates everything, from a casual embrace to a kiss every now and then. It's not that Yuuri doesn't enjoy all of the affection, but the several times he tried to make the first step, Victor shied away, whether caught by surprise or ... Yuuri doesn't know what that  _ or _ could be, yet it made him very cautious and aware of how he approaches Victor. In the end, his mind treats the gentle reminder from him as masked chiding.

"Yuuri?" Victor squints a little, beginning to frown in concern. "I'm doing it again, huh? You know it was a joke, you don't have to... "

Yuuri pushes a finger to his lips, cutting off the string of explanations. He wishes he had the courage not to hold back and be just as spontaneous to convince Victor he does want this. Words, however, are of little help. He hopes he can do it right, or at least his attempt at seduction  would be passable.

Yuuri drags his finger down Victor's lips, swiping his thumb across the seam of Victor's mouth. He carefully pushes on the springy bottom lip, pulling it down to expose the smooth pink underside. Yuuri's eyes dart up to check Victor's reaction. The man is looking at him, alert but otherwise his features remain unreadable. Yuuri lets his hand fall down and then he moves forward. He pushes his right knee on the mattress between Victor's legs. To his surprise, Victor doesn't slide back to make room. He leans ahead, the blue of his eyes becoming less prominent as his pupils dilate. Yuuri feels a pull in his stomach right below his navel as if those eyes could physically draw him closer. He looks back at Victor, subconsciously mirroring his body language. 

Yuuri parts his lips and tilts his head to the side, their faces barely an inch apart. They share the same breath and it feels like the air between them  is becoming thicker, the excitement nearly tangible.

Victor tries to close the distance but Yuuri ducks away. It's his call to make the first move now. He curls his arm around the man's shoulders and slides it up, running his fingers over the prickly short hairs at the back of Victor's neck. He increases  his touch, scraping his fingers over the little dimple at the base of  his skull. 

Victor grunts.  He tries to reach Yuuri again, but Yuuri's hand in his hair gives it a little warning tug to prevent him from grasping the initiative. Victor looks up at him, eyes begging. He is probably impatient but remains still.

He is quite tense though and Yuuri cups his chin, soothingly stroking his thumb over the sharp edge of his jawline. He lowers himself, practically straddling Victor's thigh but not resting his weight on it. Yuuri finds he enjoys taking things slow, stretching the sweet unspoken promise until anticipation bubbles up into his chest in a surge of ticklish warmth. His body is  fully awake , trembling with need to move. His mouth is hovering over Victor's but he doesn't give into the temptation to claim his lips just yet. 

Victor's arms hesitate only a moment before closing around Yuuri's waist. Fingers impatiently tug Yuuri's shirt up, sneaking underneath. Yuuri arches his back and Victor hisses a quiet  _ “oh yes”,  _ his feverishly hot fingertips gliding up in encouragement.

Yuuri captures Victor's bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a little tug. Victor sucks in a sharp breath and Yuuri touches the tip of his tongue to  his bottom lip, not more than a little dab against the plump softness of it. Victor groans and Yuuri repeats the lick, a little more generous this time around.

“You tease,” Victor rasps when Yuuri pauses again. His hands clasp around Yuuri's middle with more force but he quickly eases the touch.

“Oh?  Should I stop altogether?”

Yuuri watches Victor frown as he evaluates the severity of the threat. He bites the inner side of his cheek to hold back a smile and Victor narrows his eyes. 

“Don't. You. Dare,” he snarls. He pulls Yuuri down insistently until he's perched on his hip. “Do go on.”

Yuuri has to hold onto Victor's shoulders for balance. Victor locks his hands behind his back for good measure and one of his fingers casually slips under the waistband of Yuuri's jeans. Climbing on top of Victor is definitely more frisky than Yuuri intended things to get, but he's not about to complain.

He nips on Victor's lips again, spicing up the dry little pecks with more daring nibbles. He shivers when Victor moans, low and drawn-out. The sound seems to go through Yuuri with  the force of a crackling whip. He covers Victor's mouth with his, swallowing up that moan. He presses their bodies together, knocking the wind out of himself when his chest gets smashed against the hardness of Victor's torso. Yuuri digs his nails into Victor's shoulder, pulling him even closer. Victor welcomes the change in mood, hands roaming Yuuri's back as his lips part eagerly. He accepts Yuuri's lead with enough enthusiasm not to be passive but at the same time not to set the pace to his liking.

Yuuri is positively melting against him, getting restless. The way their lips mold together creates a continuous string of electric sparks. They dance on his skin, transforming into tingling heat that rushes through his body. Yuuri is both light-headed and very aware of his body, especially in places where Victor is touching him. Even though he's practically wrapped around the man, it doesn't feel  like it’s enough. Yuuri squirms in his lap and moans when Victor cups his backside to thrust up in response.

Yuuri hears a bang and wonders if he managed to knock something over. He perks up when the sound is repeated.

“There's someone at the door,” Yuuri whispers. 

“Ignore it,” Victor replies huskily. He rubs his lips slightly swollen lips together and Yuuri is tempted to do just that. The knock comes again. 

“Could be important,” Yuuri reasons as he disentangles himself from Victor. The man clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

Yuuri straightens his clothes on the way to the door, wishing he could catch a glance of himself in a mirror. He's mildly concerned that his face is just as flushed as Victor's, making it obvious that he wasn't just relaxing in his room. At least his hair isn't  in much of a disarray.

“Where is he?” Yakov demands as soon as Yuuri pulls the door open. The man doesn't wait for an invitation to come in, using his shoulder to widen the crack between the door frame and push himself in. “What are you doing here?”

Victor crosses his legs, pulling his shirt further down and over his crotch. He takes a moment to push his hair back, smoothing it down before calmly regarding the intruder.

“I was asking Yuuri's opinion on my outfit.”

“Is he a fashion expert?” Yakov sneers. Victor gives him a nonchalant shrug. 

“I apologize. Next time I shall seek your permission first before asking Yuuri's advice.” Victor delivers the line in a way which takes away the pinch of arrogance and makes it sound genuine. 

“Save the snark for later. I've come to warn you about the photoshoot. Be downstairs in half  an hour.”

“Duly noted. Thank you, Yakov.”

The man opens his mouth as if he wanted to add something but changes his mind at the last moment. He points his finger at Victor who gives him a blinding smile and leaves, walking so swiftly that Yuuri has to jump out of his way to avoid bumping  shoulders . Yuuri thinks that ought to say something, but uttering “ _ bye _ ” into Yakov's back would probably sound like mocking.

“I'm saddened beyond words that we're forced to leave at this, but at least it means we get to start over.” Victor sighs dramatically . Yuuri can't tell if he's seriously upset about being interrupted or is using that as an excuse. A moment ago he felt the passion and the connection, but now the fresh memory of pulling Victor's hair and grinding against him makes Yuuri uncomfortable, if not ashamed.

“Do you mind if I hop in your shower?” Victor asks.

“Didn't you take one at the rink?”

“I did. But now I feel like I need to cool off.”

“Oh. Um... yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Victor ruffles his hair on his way to the shower and Yuuri is left alone for several moments. He barely has time to wonder why Yakov is so sour. He starts to suspect it's a bit personal, but Yuuri fails to recall  a single instance of him doing anything wrong. Why did the man go through all the trouble of searching Victor when he could have just called or texted him? The photoshoot is hardly an emergency, especially since they could start with other skaters. 

Victor returns wrapped in just a towel and Yuuri diverts his eyes quickly. 

"Am I that unbearable to look at?" Victor teases. Yuuri gulps. It's a question bound to get him in trouble, one way or another. 

"N-no," Yuuri mutters, his response directed at the beige carpet at his feet. 

"It's the towel, isn't it? It makes me look washed out. There, lemme fix that."

Yuuri gasps but Victor is unstoppable. With a quick pull he tags the towel and yanks it off, holding it in his outstretched hand like some kind of toreador.

"My god," Yuuri groans and then snickers. He tries to hold back the giggles but can't. 

"Bet you didn't expect that, ha?" Victor puts his left hand onto his hip, puffing his chest out. 

"Ye-ha, yeah, you never  fail to - haha - surprise me," Yuuri manages to squeeze out, his words sprinkled with snorts he cannot contain. "So that's why they call you legendary."

"I very much hope so."

Yuuri's smiling so much that his cheeks begin to hurt.  Victor, proudly displaying a pair of dark blue trunks that with  the help of  an arrow proclaim his upper part to be a man, and the bottom - to be a legend, is definitely not what Yuuri expected to find.

"Wait till you see the pair Chris mailed me," Victor adds and wiggles his  eyebrows . 

"Do they say "gold standard" on them?"

"Better," Victor promises. "But I really should be getting ready."

Yuuri feels a bit out of place as he watches Victor dress up. He steals a couple of glances, looking at the sharp edge of Victor’s shoulder blades and daring to ogle just the top of the softer curves of his back. He doesn't think Victor would mind him watching, if anything, he's encouraging it. Yet Yuuri finds himself politely looking away. He releases a breath he doesn't realize he is holding when Victor covers himself up. 

"Help me with it?" he asks, offering Yuuri the tie. The fabric is so slick Yuuri cannot resist the temptation to run it between his fingers, enjoying the cool slide of silk against his skin. "I'm getting jealous of all that attention the tie is getting," Victor remarks. Yuuri hooks it around Victor's neck and makes a loop, pulling the longer end of the fabric through it, careful so that he leaves no noticeable wrinkles. He pokes the tip of his tongue out, pinching it in concentration. Yuuri suspects that Victor would do a much better job. He was asked for help not to be left out, but Yuuri finds comfort in such small domestic requests.  

"Should I run a little but do your hair?" Victor offers, his fingers curling into the locks at the nape of Yuuri's neck. 

"I'm a big boy ; I can take care of myself." Yuuri runs his palms down Victor's shirt, pretending to straighten  the already impeccable front of it as an excuse to just touch Victor. He takes a step back to admire his work. "Besides, you don't want to have Yakov burst in here once again."

"That's why they have locks," Victor murmurs, but Yuuri is not convinced. 

"Go and be responsible."

"Yes, boss," Victor chants.

"Careful, I'll get used to that."

"To me stating the obvious?" Victor laughs and Yuuri just goes along with it, not trying to argue that as his coachee, he gets bossed around more often. 

Yuuri dresses unhurriedly, knowing that he would come early anyways. He checks his reflection in the mirror and finds nothing worthy of attention. Unlike Victor, he cannot spend longer than  a few seconds looking at himself unless necessary, as his mind inevitably begins picking on  the tiniest things Yuuri wishes he could change about himself until they add up into  the one enormous flaw that he is. Ironically, it's different in ballet class. There Yuuri is able to distinguish himself and the person in the reflection, commanding him to change the way he moves until the harsh est judge (also Yuuri himself) is content with the results. 

Getting downstairs, Yuuri follows the sharp clicks of a camera and the excited coos someone is making. He quickly finds a blindingly white stand with light reflecting umbrellas around it. A shorter man with a camera is bouncing around Victor, occasionally squatting and then springing back up, skipping left and right and pushing the shutter button in a steady stream of clicks. 

Yuuri spots the rest of the skating gang to his left, with Mila occupying a tall bar chair and Georgiy standing next to her. There also is another girl Yuuri saw at the rink but never talked to and a group of boys, Yurio's blond hair distinguishing him from the rest. Yuuri doesn't approach them, stepping aside to lean against the wall and watching Victor.

The man looks taller, an illusion supported by the bent-down photographer. Victor appears to be either bored or condescending. He peeks down at the camera through his lashes, lazily adjusts his cuffs and tie, runs his fingers through his hair and pats his lips with an added pensive frown. His movements are fluid and unhurried, freezing in time for a beat to allow them to be digitally captured before they change. This version of Victor is magnetic, radiating calm power and self-appreciation, occasionally shifting towards being preoccupied with his own thoughts.  Yuuri knows this Victor from the few magazine spreads for  wristwatch ad campaigns, as he went through the trouble of international purchase and shipment of the foreign issues. Yuuri also knows that he has no business being next to that Victor. 

Victor notices him though the curtain of light. His imposed icy facade of superiority falters a bit as Victor cracks a little smile, which elicits a squawk of excitement from the photographer. Yuuri's chest swells with a surge of warmth. Victor slips right back into being self-absorbed, yet Yuuri finds it easier to witness now that his presence was acknowledged. He wonders if the photos would be available online. Yuuri finds the shot of Victor's profile, hands joined before his lips as if in silent prayer particularly alluring.

Yuuri is grabbed by the elbow and he turns to meet the watery blue eyes of Yakov. 

"H-hello, Mr. F-feltzman."

The man snorts at his greeting and Yuuri gulps. Yakov gives him  a long, hard look, his jaws moving, making it seem like what he's about to say must be chewed first before he pushes it through his teeth. 

"Don't ruin it more than you already have," Yakov delivers menacingly. The man continues studying his face, unblinking eyes scanning Yuuri through. "Don't break apart what I have achieved." A finger pokes Yuuri in the chest driving the point - whatever it was - home. He is left alone just as suddenly as he was approached. 

Yuuri rubs his chest in  an attempt to get rid of  the unpleasant throbbing left by the poke and wipe off the feeling of being tainted. He exhales slowly and turns back to Victor, who is basking in  the flashing lights of the camera. Yuuri  ponders over what Yakov's secret message was and what exactly he has ruined.  Victor's career is back on track and if the photographer's delight is anything to judge from, Victor has not lost an ounce of popularity. Perhaps Yakov is troubled by Yuuri being Victor's competitor, which is ridiculous. The man had seen him skate and he witnessed his fall and clumsy landings during practice. He cannot genuinely believe Yuuri will grow quickly enough to push Victor off the pedestal. It may be no more than an assumption, but Yuuri suspects there is something deeper to Yakov's vague threats. 

After spending a quarter of an hour and having every angle of him snapped, Victor steps away, switching places with Georgiy. While Victor was all precise angles and graceful turns, Georgiy seems to be clumsy and out of place. The photographer is obviously less thrilled by the exaggerated dramatic poses and barks orders, making Georgiy fuss. 

Victor briefly stops to say something to Mila. A fair-haired skater, the one whose name Yuuri doesn't know, shouts something at Victor. Other guys begin snickering. Victor  dismisses the remark with a roll of a shoulder and  joins the laughter, effortlessly brushing off something that would make Yuuri  lose a couple hours of sleep.

Yuuri isn't the only one watching Victor, though. Yurio, his hands in  his pockets and the usual slight frown adding a flare of disapproval to his squinting eyes, glares at the man as well. He curls his lips a little and then turns to Yuuri, ignoring Yuuri's wave for a greeting. 

As Victor starts walking towards Yuuri, the boy also  takes a few steps ahead. He has to make several hurried steps more to keep up with Victor's long  strides , yet they approach Yuuri at the same time.

"Bored?" Victor asks apologetically. Yurio rushes to respond. 

"Who wouldn't be? Watching you prance in front of that photographer like a giant pink marshmallow, pfft. "

"Firstly, I'm wearing lavender, not pink," Victor points out, raising his voice slightly for it to come through the disgusted noise Yurio makes. "Secondly, a marshmallow suggests I have a few extra kilos on me, which - let's face it - is way too far fetched even for you to use as an insult."

"Marshmallow suggests that you're an air head."

Victor tilts his head to the side and presses his finger to his lips, giving them a  few taps as he chooses his next words. 

"I like marshmallows," Yuuri blurts out. Both men turn to him and Yuuri shifts from foot to foot, fully aware of how silly he sounds. "There's nothing wrong with them... I mean... They're p-pretty... And sweet." 

Yurio looks like he's about to vomit, scrunching his face up. Victor's face, on other hand, brightens up with a grin. 

"Aaw, you think I'm sweet?" he whispers.

"No, he means you're shapeless, covered in dusting, soft and flabby most of the time."

"Are you old enough to know when it's flabby and when it's hard?"

"Oh my god," Yuuri grunts. This comparison is totally overblown and he wants nothing to do with it. Victor's remark is subtle, yet Yuuri does not recall if he's ever heard Victor being as brash. He wonders if that has anything to do with his presence. "Victor!" he adds helplessly, searching for the right words to help Yurio out. The boy's cheeks turn dark red, uneven blotches of colour spreading down to his jaw. They resemble marks a slap would leave, and although Yurio struggles to keep his expression blank, he obviously is quite thrown off. 

"Aren't  _ you _ too old?" Yurio spits. His words don't deliver the intended burn. 

"I hope you're not asking for a demonstration," Victor mutters and Yuuri squawks with a poorly hidden laugh. Yurio sucks in a breath, shocked and undignified. 

"Yurio!  Wait!" Yuuri calls, but the boy doesn't turn around. He raises his hand over his shoulder, middle finger sticking proudly up. "Victor," Yuuri repeats, biting his lips to hold in the giggles. He feels terrible for being entertained by this. His voice does not  convey an ounce of chiding and he clears his throat, hoping to come across more  sternly . "What's gotten in you?"

Victor gives him a devilish smirk and throws a quick glance around. No one appears to be paying them any mind and he lowers his voice to a confiding whisper once again.

"Nothing has been...  _ in _ me yet. And, regretfully, I don't recall getting into...” he pauses, delivering a meaningful glare to Yuuri, “any kind of mood, either.”

“You are doing it on purpose, aren't you? Why do you keep teasing him?"

"I give as  _ hard  _ as I receive", Victor replies, eyes crinkled up in a way that makes Yuuri suspect that the choice of words is deliberate. "He shouldn't be walking around and getting away with his edginess. Why, would you rather have me tease you?"

"Victor, contain yourself," Yuuri warns him. It's difficult to deal with the man in this mood and he hopes it doesn't stretch through the interview. As much as Yuuri enjoys the lighthearted banter, it's not something he'd do in front of others. 

"Contain what? Are you worried I'll spill prematurely?"

Yuuri makes an exaggeratedly long moan and presses his hands to his heated face, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And you're accus ing Mila of turning everything into a joke?"

"Alright, I admit I'm on a roll tonight," Victor says in a more serious tone. "I can already feel Yakov's disapproving stare burning a hole in me," he adds. 

Yuuri turns, following Victor's prompt. They hardly made much noise, yet Yakov does look like he's about to blame them for every little laugh they got. 

"Victor?"

"Hmm?" he breathes, watching the next skater take his place in front of the camera.

"Why does Yakov hate me?" 

"Hate is a strong word. I'm pretty sure he doesn't hate you."

"Fine," Yuuri agrees and pauses for a second to choose a different statement. "What does he have against me?"

"Yuuri, I assure you that your reputation is impeccable, and he has no compromising evidence to blackmail you with."

"Victor," Yuuri repeats, frowning with irritation. He knows Victor understood his question, but keeps dodging it for whatever reason. "Can you just tell me?"

"He'll warm up," Victor replies stubbornly. "Don't dwell on it."

"I'd much rather know why he's against me."

"It's nothing."

"Victor..."

" Oh look, they've finished," Victor says, giving someone behind Yuuri's back  an enthusiastic wave. "Shall we go,  too ?"

He starts walking without waiting for Yuuri to agree. Yuuri follows the little crowd into the next room, larger and better lit. Half the rows of chairs that face a long table at the opposite side of the room  are already occupied. Most people are holding tablets, swiping their fingers across their glowing surfaces. Yuuri guesse s them to be the press mostly because of their age. A sponsor is unlikely to be that young.

The rest of the skaters move to sit at the table, but Victor makes a detour, personally greeting each and every one of the journalists with a handshake or a quick kiss on  the hand for  the girls. Where people are seated too far for him to reach, Victor waves at them, throwing a few quick phrases to acknowledge their presence. He even walks to the cameraman - a guy Yuuri  hasn't noticed, as his thin frame is mostly hidden by the camera stand. 

Finally, Victor takes his place in the middle of the table, sitting himself at Mila's left. He sticks out, due to his height and silvery hair, which almost reflects the fire Mila's locks radiate. Victor picks up a slender bottle of water, first tilting his head and  talking to Mila. The girl nods and Victor pours water for her and then himself, taking a small sip from a see-through glass. Yuuri diverts his eyes to avoid staring. He finds that he is not the only one who finds Victor captivating. 

Victor has managed to grasp everyone's attention with little effort. Yuuri sees one journalist shifting to the end of her seat, eyes glued to Victor as her fingers collide with the keys of her laptop with a maddening speed. She bothers to check what she's typed only once. 

The empty  seats are slowly filled, although two rows in the back remain empty. Yuuri sits behind Yakov and Yurio, both of them turning to acknowledge his presence. Being surrounded by so many people, the rough sounds of the language Yuuri cannot understand, feels strange. 

When the panel begins, Yuuri finds himself even more isolated. People rapidly shoot questions and answers at each other  and there is an occasional laughter or a murmur of agreement. Yuuri's knowledge of Russian is barely enough to catch a "yes" or "no ." He hears nothing related to skating, or at least no technical terms - he knows they would sound the same, although passing through the filter of the speaker's accent their understanding would require some effort. 

Yuuri is amused at how much different the skater's names come out in Russian, Victor's in particular. Where English softens it with delicate vowels and hushed R, the Russian variant doesn't hold back. It's first syllable comes out in a powerful emphasized roar, followed by an aggressive roll of the consonants at the end. At first Yuuri thinks it's just one journalist's take, but as the panel continues, he  observes that everyone is saying it like that, enunciating every letter and dragging the R is a purr, turning it into an unfamiliar exotic word.  It could as well be a war cry, and it's not difficult to imagine a crowd cheering and chanting that name. Yuuri wonders how Victor would feel if he tried mimicking that pronunciation. He likes to think he'd be impressed, although the reality would probably be Victor collapsing in a giggling fit.

Yuuri pulls his phone out and tries to  google up the event. He hopes he can find a live stream with English subtitles, but he's unsuccessful. There's nothing else to do but wait. 

If Victor was right, they have a little more of an hour to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised smut. I am ashamed I didn't deliver. I'm trying, but these two just won't cooperate.


	7. Mixed signals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long and that this chapter turned out lengthy. ~~Consistency? What's that?~~

Victor seems to get mildly bored as the panel drags along. His face remains calm and attentive, but his fingers are restless. They glide over the rim of the glass, leisurely stroking it or caressing its slim column.

Victor's ring gleams in the lights. Yuuri isn't the one to notice the obvious. The journalist, who earlier managed to keep typing while her eyes scrutinized Victor to the bone, asks something, which makes Victor smile and raise his hand. He shrugs and shoots a question back, his thumb toying with the gold band and pushing it around his finger. Victor adds another sentence in a hushed voice that earns him a chuckle from the crowd. The reporter mumbles something. Yuuri can barely hear them from where he is sitting - not that it matters, really.

Yurio turns around. He frowns but says nothing, ignoring Yuuri's mouthed "what is it?" Yuuri looks back at the table, his eyes locking with Mila's. She appears to be a bit puzzled, her eyes narrowed in a concerned way not unlike Yurio's a moment ago. Yuuri shifts in his seat. Maybe Victor said something about him. Not directly, as he didn't catch his own name, but Mila and Yurio definitely know something he doesn't. Yuuri doesn't like the sticky feeling of worry creeping up his spine. Surely, Victor wouldn't mock him in front of everybody. The fact that people laughed in response doesn't mean that it was at Yuuri's expense. He wishes once again he could understand more than just a couple of phrases in Russian. Instead, he has to wait till the reception to ask Victor what this was about. That is, if Yuuri dares to approach the man. He doesn't look forward to another remark on them being inseparable – from Yakov or anyone else.

The pace of reporters' questions slows down and finally the panel is over. The skaters quickly rise to leave the room. Yuuri waits for most of the crowd to flow out before standing up from his seat. Victor is out of sight, probably being promptly steered to another room. Yuuri knows that was to be expected but still wishes he could linger to allow Yuuri to catch up with him. To his surprise, Yurio waits for him outside. The boy does not return his smile, but walks alongside Yuuri.

"You're not gonna cry about it, are you?" Yurio asks gruffly. "He's just a being an idiot. Nothing unusual."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yeah?” The boy looks at him briefly. “Well - good."

"Yurio..."

"Forget it."

"Forget what?" Yuuri stops and puts his hand on the boy's shoulder trying to get Yurio to face him. Yurio huffs, the whirl of hair making his straw hair fly off his face and fall back again, covering all but his left eye and pointy nose. He is unlikely to complain about Victor leaving without them. The distant rumble of the laugher everyone shared over Victor's ring echoes in Yuuri's ears.

"Yurio, what did Victor say?"

"A lot. You were there. He barely shut up."

"You said I would be upset about something."

"Ask him," Yurio advises. Yuuri lets go of him and pushes his hands in his pockets, subconsciously hunching down. He wonders if he should be concerned that Yurio didn't use the chance to rub his face in whatever it is Victor said.

The larger joint room is buzzing. The people are better dressed, Yuuri notices. He is grateful for Victor's foresight, which prevented him from presenting himself to the fancy crowd in jeans and a t-shirt. Yuuri tugs the collar of his shirt nervously just to make sure it's laid down properly. Yurio, immune to such worries, gives him a “ _tsch_ ” in annoyance.

“Wanna grab something to eat?” Yuuri suggests. The boy shrugs.

“There's hardly anything better to do.”

Yuuri maneuvers his way through the crowd, occasionally glancing back to make sure Yurio is keeping up with him. Some people are already drinking – holding the slim flutes of champagne or stout glasses of amber liquor. Yuuri diverts his eyes when he spots Victor bending down to whisper something to his companion – a lady in a dark blue business suit, who throws her head back and laughs, swatting Victor's arm before looping her hand around it.

Yuuri scans the disarray of canapés and realizes he's not hungry. He would much rather go back to his room and stay there; he will hardly be missed at the party. Yuuri sighs, battling as to whether he should give this thing a chance or give up.

“Stop snuffling like that,” Yuuri orders.

“I'm sorry if my breathing bothers you,” Yuuri says flatly.

“I don't want your snot in my food.”

“Please, go ahead and get some before my exhaling – or snot – pollutes it.”

Yurio grabs a plate and starts loading it with everything his hands reach. Yuuri raises his brows as the pile on they boy's plate grows higher.

“Are you sure you can fit it all inside you and not get sick?”

“Yes,” Yurio snaps. “The only thing that makes me sick is Victor's imbecilic bragging and Gosha's hair. And since I'm never safe from either, I've trained my stomach to endure it.”

Yuuri shakes his head in disapproval but doesn't remark, knowing all too well that arguing would only fuel Yurio's desire to insult everyone around him. Yuuri selects a round cracker with a piece of salmon on it and takes a careful bite. He closes his eyes briefly, savoring the creamy texture and the complementary tinge of salt. Yurio coughs.

“Did I get crumbs on my face?” Yuuri questions. He swipes his thumb over his mouth. Yurio grunts at him and then shoves two canapés in his mouth. “You certainly did,” Yuuri chuckles, but Yurio jerks away, avoiding his touch. He runs the back of his hand over his mouth quickly. Yuuri shrugs but lets it slide.

“So, are you gonna be talking to the sponsors too?”

Yurio makes a nonchalant noise and then scowls.

“Not unless I have to.”

“Don't you? Why did you come here?”

“Why did _you_ come here?” Yurio shoots back. Yuuri gives him a smile; the boy's anger too predictable. It is a legitimate question, after all.

“For food, of course. Although I must admit the expectations were not met.”

"My grandpa is in hospital," Yurio replies, grimacing. "Yakov didn't want to leave me alone so he invited me here."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Why? You don't even know him."

"Yeah, but still... Hope everything turns out okay."

"You don't know it either," Yurio argues. "Don't say stupid shit cause you feel like you have to."

"May I say "stupid shit" when I'm sincere about it?"

Yurio clicks his tongue. Yuuri shifts from foot to foot, wanting to reach out and comfort the boy, yet very much aware he'll cause an angry fit if he does. He's not good at dealing with such situations.

Yuuri looks over to where Yakov is standing. His face is scrunched up as if someone had pissed in his drink, no less. The wrinkles gathered on his forehead seem to become permanent by this point. The bald patch on top of his head reflects the warm golden light. And yet Yuuri thinks that he was too rash in his judgments about him, concentrating on the negative. Yakov practically raised Victor and now is doing the same for Yurio. He can't be that bad.

As if sensing he's being watched, the man turns to him. His face contorts even further, clear displeasure deepening the lines around his mouth. Yuuri gulps, expecting another string of accusations. Yakov, however, comes up to Yurio.

"Cause I want to," the boy replies to the short sentence barked out in Russian by his coach. "I don't see any age restriction sign," he continues. Yuuri wonders why Yurio chose to speak English - to make him feel involved or just to spite Yakov.

"I am personally announcing that restriction for you, isn't that enough?" Yakov puts his large hand on the boy's shoulder, ignoring the growls of protest.

"I am hungry."

"You are always hungry. Finish these in your room."

"I'll order more food and have it charged to your card," Yurio hisses. Yakov purses his lips. Yuuri thinks he does it to hide his smile, but the moment of mirth is so brief that he cannot be certain.

"I wouldn't expect anything less. Now, walk, unless you want me to carry you out – over my shoulder."

Yurio whines and then makes the most dramatic sigh. He does follow the order, walking away and mumbling under his breath.

Yuuri is left alone again. His eyes slide across unfamiliar faces. He could start a conversation with someone, but the idea of people questioning him on who he is and why exactly he's here makes him abandon that impulse. He might approach someone too important for all he knows. Yakov's previous warning as to not ruining things is still fresh in his memory.

Yuuri sees Victor bring up his partner to another table, chivalrously offering her a glass of wine. She accepts it with both hands - one on the glass and her other hand stroking Victor's sleeve. Victor doesn't seem to mind and laughs at something she says. Yuuri clenches his teeth. He makes several steps to the side to avoid this joyous couple. He sees Mila gesturing vividly before moving on to speak with someone else. She slides across the room, all cheers and hospitable waves, instead of sticking to one person's side as a leech. Inspired by Victor's example, Yuuri picks up a glass and walks up to the girl.

"Oh thank you, Yura," she breathes. "Gosh, I feel like my cheeks are gonna fall off from all that smiling."

"Hope you're old enough to drink," Yuuri jokes.

"Is that why _you_ are keeping away from alcohol? To preserve my child-like innocence?" she taunts. Yuuri coughs, too aware of what she's referring to. "Aw. Will there not be a performance from you tonight?”

“Afraid not.”

“Too bad. The evening could use some spice."

"Still, I'll pass," Yuuri mumbles. Mila takes a large sip of wine and starts coughing. "Not good? Do you need water?"

Mila nods and clears her throat when the coughing stops.

"Y-yeah, that would be nice. I didn't think it was that strong. Or sour."

Mila looks at him expectantly and Yuuri offers his arm, leading her to the table with drinks. He finds it a bit ridiculous to follow the ceremony, but Mila seems to be pleased..

"Hate high heels," she informs him. "Torture device."

"So I've heard."

"Wanna swap?"

"Or I could fetch you some hotel slippers."

Mila giggles. She grabs a glass of water, emptying it in two thirsty swallows.

"Divine," she sighs. "Did I mess up my lipstick?" she puts her chin out, her full lips pushed together for Yuuri to inspect.

"It is alright." Yuuri draws in a breath before quickly pushing out the question that has bothered him for a while. "Why does Yakov hate me so much?"

Mila does not try to deny it, quirking her brow in surprise.

"Why, he's convinced you're somewhere between an attention seeker and a gold digger. You know, playing Vitya in every way possible." Yuuri gasps. Mila grins further. "Come on, it's not that dramatic. I can understand where he got that idea from, but Yakov can be too stubborn to admit his first impression was wrong."

" _I_ am playing him?" Yuuri's voice goes up a pitch and he tries to mask by clearing his throat. "Victor is the one who..."

"Hmm let's see," Mila raises her hand and wiggles her fingers before bending them down in a quick count. "Vitya is the one who abandoned his career for a year to fly over to Japan to take up a self-imposed coaching position free of charge. Vitya is the one who did nothing but check his phone while you were separated. Vitya is the one to arrange tickets for you, a pick up and a place to stay. He cares about your career more than he cares about his own. He still looks like he'll drop everything to cater to your smallest whim." Mila victoriously holds up her clenched fist, having run out of fingers of her hand to continue the count. Her short red nails almost have a devious glow to them.

"Yeah, well..." Her words are harsh and it's impossible to argue them. While Victor did these things, Yuuri could not say why he did them. His wishful thinking scenario has turned Victor in an altruistic prince. In reality, if he thinks about it, Yuuri has nothing to give in return. He feels simply... useless.

Mila follows his glance, turning her head to check Victor still entertaining the same woman. Yuuri wonders if she also finds the woman's hand wrapped around Victor's arm to oddly resemble a bird claw.

"It's just work," Mila's voice softens a little. Yuuri's bitterness must be easy to read on his face. "And I'm sure it's not all one-sided where you only take what he's offering."

"When you put it like that..." Yuuri presses his lips together, unsure of what to add. Mila is right, of course, but she didn't live through the painful struggles of trying to understand Victor's bursts of affections and periods of cooling down, where Yuuri struggles to grasp what he did wrong or which name he could assign to their relationship. "I mean, it's not as if I..." Yuuri rubs his palms on his pants to rid himself of an uncomfortable clamminess. Mila's eyes are scanning him, putting his words to trial but he has nothing to say in his defense. Perhaps he is simply greedy and too selfish to even consider returning Victor's kindness.

"Besides, him having several heated fights with Yakov didn't help the man to get to like you."

"What... What did they fight about?" Yuuri vaguely remembers Mila mentioning this and saying that Victor raised his voice for the first time in years. Yuuri finds it hard to believe, especially imagining him doing it to his coach. For all the times Victor groaned and complained about him, Yuuri could never expect anything but the immense level of respect and gratitude Victor felt for Yakov.

"Yurochka, do you really think that training a competitor at Victor's own expense went well with Yakov?"

"I'm not trying to damage Victor's career. I just want..."

"To continue being a distraction for him," Mila teases with a giggle. "It's hard to miss that Vitya's priorities have shifted."

"Talking about priorities, here I am," Georgiy announces. Yuuri jumps, startled. "Sweetheart," Georgiy coos, offering Mila a glass of white wine. He thrusts his hand out to share a handshake with Yuuri.

"Yura has already tied to get me drunk. Are you following his lead?"

Georgiy slaps his hand over his heart, playing wounded.

"You see through me." Mila gives him a little push. Georgiy responds with an exaggerated sigh. "So, what did I interrupt?"

"Always a pessimist. Why not ask what you could contribute?"

"Okay. What must I add to this remarkable conversation?"

"We were discussing Victor and Yakov's disagreement over Yuuri."

"Ah," Georgiy puts his fingers in a pinch and raises them to his mouth. "Bellissimo."

"Is that supposed to be Italian?"

"Why, you surprised I know more than one language?" Mila shakes her head at the question and Georgiy continues. "Yes, the fight of decade. Ice met stone. Stubbornness collisioned with stone."

“You said stone twice. Hardly poetic.”

"What?" Yuuri asks. He feels like he's missing the point of this conversation. With the delivery Georgiy gives he starts to suspect all of this is a joke just to see how he'd react to an imaginary scenario.

"Vitya lost, of course. He sale his soul to Yakov in exchange of having you."

Yuuri looks at Mila, silently asking for help.

"Gosha meant to say that they were at each other's throats until Vitya gave in and promised to be an atta-boy, jumping through Yakov's loops as long as he could keep being your coach and have you practice at the rink. Although you know how that went," the girl shrugs. "But I don't really mind sharing the ice with you so count it's better than nothing."

"But Victor never told me this."

"Have you ever asked?"

"Yes!" Yuuri says. "Many times, but he dismisses it and tells me not to worry."

"Fair enough," Georgiy concludes. "If you can do nothing, why worry?"

"Because I wanted to know! And because I can deal with my problems instead of being treated like baby."

"Yurochka, are you really complaining about Vitya making an effort to schedule your practices?" Mila's eyebrows go up.

"Uh, no..."

"And that he made sure it all went smoothly and you felt welcome?"

"I... I didn't..." Yuuri raises his arms in defeat. "I just want to be aware of things he does, you know? Not to come out as an ungrateful pr... Person."

"Yet you were surprised when I pointed out simple things everyone is able to see," Mila gives Yuuri's arm a squeeze. "No one thinks you're selfish or anything. It's only... New for us. To see Vitya so... Unlike himself."

Yuuri thinks of Victor basking in the attention of the woman next to him and back to the things Mila claims he did to get Yuuri settled. It doesn't add up and makes Yuuri even more confused.

"I wish his words would reflect what he's really thinking." Yuuri is not bitter about it, but he cannot say he likes being unable to understand Victor, even when the man means well.

"Ha. This true," Georgiy snorts and has to cover his mouth at Mila's reproaching look. "I mean, that he said on the interview was foolish."

"What did he say?" Yuuri perks up. It's the second time this is brought up this evening and he feels a pull of mild worry in his stomach. Yuuri recalls Mila glancing at him with concern, checking his reaction during the interview. It couldn't be anything light-hearted and judging by her grave look, anything pleasant either.

"Are you sure you want to know?" she twirls a lock of hair around her finger. "Maybe you two should discuss it when... When things cool down."

Yuuri thinks he'll soon come to a boil with all those hints remaining half-transparent and unspoken. He wants to pry further but at the same time the fear and uneasiness get to him.

"He finds out this way or other," Georgiy shrugs, disregarding Mila's dramatic tone.

"Yeah but let Vitya talk about it if he thinks it's necessary."

"Pfft." Georgiy rolls his eyes. "Let's go have a drink, " he suggests, landing his arm on Yuuri's shoulder.

"Gosha, you should go charm the sponsors.”

"Exactly. Cannot do it sober."

"Gosha. Let him speak to Vitya. _Promise_ ”.

"Promise me a dance later?" Georgiy wiggles his brows. Mila snickers.

"Do you see anyone dancing?"

"Thank god, no," Yuuri mutters. If he saw that woman cling to Victor any harder, using the dance as an excuse to rub herself all over him, Yuuri wouldn't be able to take it.

"Whoa, hey, I am not that bad at it," Georgiy protests. Yuuri hums nonchalantly. Then he understands.

"Oh. It's not what I meant. I just have bad memories of dancing at such parties."

"And I have astonishing evidence about it." Mila pulls her phone out of a clutch bag. "Gosha, wanna go through that exquisite collection again?"

"Erm... Georgiy, what did you say about getting a drink? I think I'm ready for one."

"Yeah Gosha, give him more than one. Maybe we'll be lucky enough to get a re-performance."

Yuuri's grunt in response is lost in the chuckles of his newly turned tormentors.

“It's been two years. Can we please forget it happened?”

“Nope,” Mila replies cheerfully.

"Come on, I go out for a smoke and we drink, okay?"

Yuuri nods and follows Georgiy outside. The rich night air is cold against his skin and Yuuri shivers. He rubs his arms, trying to preserve some heat. Georgiy walks around the corner of the building and further away, following a little trail, until the lights of the hotel are less than a soft glow against his face. He pulls a box of cigarettes out of his pocket unhurriedly. The shadows around them turn thicker after the flame of the lighter flickers and quickly dies away. The orange tip of the cigarette wobbles a little in front of Yuuri's face.

"You okay?" Georgiy asks out of the blue, the warm swipe of his bitter breath touching Yuuri's cheek.

"Why?"

"Maybe you fought or something." Yuuri wonders if that's mere curiosity or Georgiy has a reason to think they did. "Don't say if you don't want."

"No, I just don't know. It's so complicated."

Georgiy barks out a laugh.

"If you don't know if you did anything wrong, it means you did. Trust me. When Anya acted too quiet or talked to her friends only, I knew I screwed this. Just apologize. There's always something you need to apologize for. Even without you know it."

Yuuri contemplates if that might be a good advice.

"Do you think Victor is mad at me for something?"

"I don't know that."

"Yeah but why did I ask if we were okay?"

"Is that a bad question?"

"Georgiy..." Yuuri wraps his arms around himself to protect against the cold. He doesn't like the cascade of questions. They do not help him understand what Georgiy implies any better than they help him understand Victor or himself. He feels toyed with, as if other people were exchanging some inner joke he was forgotten to be told. "Could you please honestly answer?"

Georgiy takes another slow inhale, releasing a puff of bitter smoke.

"I honestly do not know if he is angry," he replies slowly.

"Yet something causes you to think he was?" Yuuri pauses. "Is it... Is that about whatever he said at the interview?"

Georgiy keeps quiet. Yuuri's fingers clench around his arms tighter.

"Will you tell me what it was about? Please. I - I keep being reminded of it even if I don't know what everybody means. People tell me not to be upset about it... But how can I be upset or indifferent as to something I don't know?"

"No good, is it?" Georgiy stretches his words, either in thought or unwilling to continue this conversation. "I tell you. Just because I want you not to be a fool. And because I made no promise to Mila."

Yuuri waits impatiently, biting his cheek so as to not to say anything to spook Georgiy. He fights back the urge to clear his throat or prompt him. The silence thickens. Georgiy tosses the cigarette butt on the ground, tromping his foot over it.

“Vitya said his heart was free for anyone to win. When he was asked about ring.” Yuuri feels like his world had stopped for a moment. He screws his eyes shut, yet the words still slither in his ears, burrowing inside his head. He slowly lets the air out of his lungs, taking a breath only when there's a burn in his chest. It passes quickly though, leaving him numb. Yuuri thought it would hurt more.

“He gave you ring?” Georgiy asks, masking the concern by the casualty of his tone.

“No.” Yuuri rubs his chilly fingertips against his palm. He didn't notice how cold it was getting. “I gave it to him.”

“It could be...”

Yuuri nods to himself, interrupting the man.

“Yeah. Yeah it could be. This and that and anything else. Shall we go inside? You promised me a drink.”

“Okay?” The hesitance in Georgiy's voice makes it difficult to distinguish whether he's agreeing to return or asking whether Yuuri is alright.

“Mhmm.”

Yuuri's world didn't come crashing down, so why shouldn't he be alright? He orders himself not to think about it, not tonight. He knew it all along, after all. The idea that Victor – _Victor_ – loved him in that way, the romantic way, was absurd and improbable, so he shouldn't have been surprised. He lets the idea sink, hoping it won't drag him down as well. What's there to love about him? Yuuri cannot come up with a decent reason, while points against it pop up here and there. His lack of confidence, his mediocre looks, his overall plainness. He could never spark interest in anyone he knows, let alone a celebrity. And his professional life is not better with his weak skating and him not being able to pay Victor back for his coaching. Mila was right. Yuuri should be grateful for what he already got.

The alcohol makes his mouth burn and his tongue prickle, but leaves a pleasant warm feeling in his stomach. Yuuri has no intention of getting drunk, but accepts another glass from Georgiy, not bothering to wash it down with something more digestible or having a snack between the shots. Georgiy talks about something Yuuri has no interest in, but an occasional nod in agreement is enough to get him going.

When Victor smiles at them from across the room, Yuuri's face remains as calm and unmoving as before. Victor makes his way to them and Yuuri finds he does not want to confront him now, although there is very little he can do; running away hardly seems to be an option.

“Yuuri, are you drinking?” Victor is slightly out of breath as if he had been laughing or had just run to them. Since the latter isn't true, Yuuri thinks that woman he's been courting all night must be both rich and very amusing. He pointedly looks at Victor, then at the glass in his hand and raises his eyes back to the man's face.

“It appears that I am,” he replies acidly. It makes Victor frown.

“You've had enough, perhaps?” he murmurs. Yuuri scowls and chugs the remainder of the liquor down in two hurried gulps.

“No. Don't you see, I'm having _fun_.” Yuuri puts the glass down on the table with a thud, applying a lot more force than necessary. “Did you come here to tell me to go to _my_ room?”

“No, but...”

“Then go and do what you love doing most.”

“And that would be?..” Victor looks calm. So calm that it annoys Yuuri beyond reason. He grinds his teeth at that polite little smile and the ever-understanding expression Victor puts on.

“Oh I think you know.” Yuuri tries to mock Victor's tone. He must be successful, as the man narrows his eyes. He still looks more thoughtful than angered, plucking his lip as he's trying to figure out what is going on. “Being the biggest...”

“Whoa, whoa!” Georgiy throws his arm around Yuuri, conveniently covering up his mouth to muffle out the rest. “I don't want to hear your compliments for each other, okay? Vitya, we are fine. Yuuri look up to me.”

“Looks up to you or looks after you?”

“What difference? Both things, Vitya. Worry not, I control everything.”

Victor ponders that over then shrugs.

“Alright, as much as I'd like to hear what I do best, I think I'll retire. Don't stay up too late.”

“That's to be seen,” Gosha calls cheerfully. Yuuri offers nothing.

His mood keeps souring even after Victor leaves. Yuuri doesn't know how to kill the rest of the evening so he takes a stroll around the room. He goes out every now and then to stand by Georgiy's side while the man smokes and checks his phone several times just to give himself something to do.

He dreads going to bed as he doesn't know what the next day will bring. Now that he is aware of Victor holding no feelings for him – or, rather, no feelings that would prevent him from seeking love from somebody else – should he just go back home? He definitely won't be able to pretend that nothing has happened.

“You are waste of good alcohol,” Georgiy chides him. “Really, go sleep. Mornings are more wise than evenings.”

That statement may hold some truth to it, but Yuuri is too tired to figure it out. The majority of people left anyway, the remaining dozen are scattered around in the corners of the room. Yuuri says goodbye to Mila and shakes hands with Georgiy. He walks down the hall. His shoes feel heavy as if they were filled with lead and Yuuri makes an extra effort not to drag them. He drops a thin plastic card in the slot above the lock and one piercing beep later he's able to get inside his hotel room.

Victor is sitting on the corner of the bed. He's hugged by shadows, the dim bedside lamp behind him being the only source of light. With his suit jacket off, Victor is resting his elbows on his knees. His face is hidden in the palms of his hands, but he raises his head when Yuuri steps in. Yuuri still cannot see his face, but the slope of Victor's shoulders and the little sigh he blows makes him appear tired.

“You're back,” he remarks. Yuuri has nothing to add to that. He doesn't know where to put his room key and fumbles with it before taking several steps and putting it on the bedside table.

“You're not resting.”

Victor stretches his arm and grabs Yuuri's hand. He coaxes him closer, curling his arm around Yuuri's middle and pressing his face to Yuuri's stomach. He rubs against it a little, trying to find a better spot.

“There. I am re-charging,” Victor murmurs smugly. “Is that acceptable?”

Yuuri fights the instinct to hold Victor's head closer and run his fingers through his hair. He almost does it, lifting his hand but stopping when the ring on his own finger catches the filtered yellow light from the lamp. Yuuri reminds himself that it's not what it seems and he shouldn't get attached for the sake of his own heart.

“I'd say it's better to rest when you're laying down?”

“Is that so?” Victor purrs, moving down the front of Yuuri's shirt until his chin is pressed to the buckle of Yuuri's pants. “I take it I can stay here tonight? To rest, that is.”

Yuuri gulps. Really, must he ask after putting him through it all?

“No.”

Victor throws his head back to look at Yuuri. He appears at a loss for words only for a moment before his features morph back into polite curiosity.

"Why's that?"

"You can very well sleep in your room. You booked two of them, remember? I stay in my room, you stay in yours. Just like the plan was."

“I see.”

Victor gets up but instead of leaving, yanks on the belt of his pants, swiftly pulling it out of the loops.

"What are you doing?"

"Since you kindly pointed out it was I who paid for it, I'll sleep where I find appropriate."

"How is that appropriate?" Yuuri demands, watching Victor balance on one leg, his left foot tangled in his trousers. He shakes it violently, trying to get them off, muttering something under his breath. He finally manages to get out of them but stops his improvised strip tease to give Yuuri a cautious look.

"You won't just... banish me out. Yuuri. Please, can I stay?" Victor looks up at him, all innocence and puppy eyes. "My room is cold," he complains. It holds little sense as the rooms are identical and Victor is standing there in just his shirt and underwear, displaying no discomfort as to presumably chilly air.

"Ask the reception to bring you a water bottle."

"Yuuri," he whimpers. Yuuri just gives up.

"Alright."

Victor's smile is blinding and Yuuri turns away. He bites on the inside of his cheek, telling himself over and over that it means nothing. He is upset how easy it is to bend him to the other man's will. All it took was a perfected pleading look and a simple “please”.

Victor unbuttons his shirt in a flash and shrugs it off. He dives under the covers, keeping his arms neatly folded on top of the blanket and looking all too pleased for someone who complained about the cold a moment ago. Yuuri, in turn, takes his time in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. He hopes Victor is asleep by the time he's done brushing his teeth and washing his face to get rid of the dizziness left by the alcohol. _“It's just for the night,”_ he tells himself. _“Don't read much into it. No big deal, even if that's for the last time.”_

Yuuri turns the tap off and tiptoes back to the room. Victor has turned the lights off but the blinds are up. The moon has coloured everything into saturated blues and fuzzy greys, providing enough light for Yuuri to shed his clothes and find his way to the bed even with his glasses remaining on the bathroom shelf. He carefully raises the corner of the blanket and gets under it, hoping he doesn't disturb Victor. It's difficult to tell if the man is already asleep. His breathing is deep and even, yet Yuuri tries to keep his shifting to a minimum. He turns onto his right side, facing the window and away from Victor.

“Yuuri,” comes a whisper right after Yuuri gets settled. “What were you going to say at the after-party? When mentioning the thing I was best at doing?”

"It doesn't matter," Yuuri mumbles into the pillow. With the edge worn off he no longer wishes to throw accusations or list everything Victor did wrong.

"I'm sure it does. I feel there were a lot of adjectives attached right after the word 'biggest'." Even though he cannot see his face, Yuuri knows Victor is smiling. He doesn't seem to be bothered by suspicion that Yuuri wanted to call him names, although Yuuri is certain that would change had he actually done it.

"I was angry at you for ignoring me, that's all."

"Was I?" Victor chuckles. "Am I still?" Yuuri feels the lightest touch on the back of his neck. Victor drags his fingertips up and strokes his hair only to withdraw them a second later. "I'm afraid you're mistaken."

"Yeah, sure."

"You were so handsome tonight. I kept looking at you again and again."

Yuuri tweaks the plump corner of the pillow. He finds it hard to believe, as each time _he_ looked at Victor, he was preoccupied by the woman in blue. He has little energy to argue and just lays there still.

"Do you mind me staying here?"

This time Victor isn't joking. Yuuri imagines laying here alone, sleepless but tired, allowing his doubts to fill the gap he developed inside his chest.

"No."

"Good." Victor sounds relieved, as if Yuuri's opinion truly mattered.

His confirmation doesn't put Victor at rest. He keeps signing and tossing, burrowing into the sheets only to get the top of the blanket knocked off. After a particularly dramatic grumble Yuuri breaks the silence.

"What is it? Is there not enough space for you to get comfortable?"

"I'm just not used to sleeping like that. Not touching you.” Victor keeps his voice low, like he was confiding a secret. “May I?”

Yuuri doesn't reply. Rejection would be a lie, while acceptance would mean going against his pride, or whatever is left of it. Victor scoots over but does not touch him directly. He is close enough for Yuuri to feel the warmth of his body inches away and the evenly paced puffs of his breath against Yuuri's neck. He seems calm, too calm and confident, where Yuuri's heart is fluttering against his ribs like a trapped butterfly.

“Yu-uri,” Victor breathes, the name ringing with emotion when rolled from his lips. Yuuri's mouth is dry and his body goes stiff. "Yuuri," he repeats, quieter this time but every bit as sensual. Victor's hand hovers over his shoulder, close enough to allow the heat radiating from it to caress Yuuri's skin without coming into contact with it. Victor glides it over his arm, back and forth, the tiniest air pressure making Yuuri's hair stand on end. It is deliberate torture. Yuuri could swear there is a tingle of little sparks dancing on his body, born from the electrified space between Victor's palm and him. It thrills him yet he is upset knowing that it hardly means the same for Victor.

Yuuri moves forward on the pillow in a half-hearted attempt to escape. The tension and bitter-sweet anticipation builds up in him. He watches Victor's fingertips stroke the emptiness over Yuuri's knuckles. They withdraw to glide over Yuuri's arm in a long arc and then disappear just as silently. A long gust of warm air ruffles the hair at the back of his neck and Yuuri trembles. Victor sighs and then blows a cooler stream against Yuuri's earlobe, causing a breakout of goosebumps. The mattress dips when Victor brings himself even closer, their bodies still separated by the distance Victor does not cross.

Yuuri almost feels those ghost kisses Victor bends to place on his neck, even if they never mark his skin. The smell of Victor's cologne and his breath - slightly tainted by alcohol yet not enough to make it unpleasant - stir a dull ache in Yuuri and a longing he cannot quite understand. He grabs the blanket, trembling for no reason, and pulls his knees up to his chest. He shuts his eyes, tipping on the verge of giving into Victor's attention or cutting it short just because it would be the right thing to do.

Victor sighs, the brief movement of air resembling the finest of touches. The sound makes the taut string inside Yuuri snap and he surrenders. Leaning back, his shoulders press against Victor's chest, the movement acknowledged by another sigh from the man, a lot happier this time. Victor doesn't wrap himself around Yuuri like he thought he would. Instead, his hand gently pushes Yuuri's hair back. The kisses to Yuuri's temple remain just as delicate. They move down his jawline and sneak behind his ear, deliberately unhurried.

Victor's palm covers Yuuri's. Their hands fit perfectly, fingers intertwining. Victor strokes his thumb over the ridge of Yuuri's hand before turning their locked hands and raising them to his lips. He switches his attention to Yuuri's exposed wrist, lips gliding over the skin tirelessly. Yuuri is soothed by the warm comfort of the touch until it is replaced with a devious lick. Victor's slightly rough tongue laves him, causing another shiver and spreading the tingle from his pulse point to his lower back. He lets out a soft " _oh_ " and Victor's lips stretch into a grin against the damp patch his tongue left.

Yuuri wonders if he should be more involved. He allows the touches without encouraging them, most likely coming off as unwilling. The kisses feel great but they don't fit the picture, disconnecting the notion of Victor not being in love with him and Victor showering him with attention. Yuuri wiggles and straightens in bed, scooting back to press himself flush against Victor. Strong arms wrap around him eagerly, one under his neck and the other one hooked around his shoulder, holding him close. Yuuri shouldn't be surprised that Victor is hard. His kisses get hungrier too with a light suction and careful graze of teeth against skin added to the slow exploration of his neck.

Yuuri shifts again, causing Victor to groan. With Victor's chest pressed to him, Yuuri can feel the sound vibrate against his back. It is oddly exciting and Yuuri pushes back again, this time grinding against Victor on purpose. The grunt comes once more, deeper and more guttural. Victor would never be able to fake this reaction. Whether he feels anything towards Yuuri or not, his body reacts in the most honest way. Yuuri bends his arm back, sliding his fingers through Victor's hair and holding his head closer, scratching against his scalp. The man presses his face in the crook of Yuuri's shoulder in response to the touch. Yuuri's body turns positively boneless under the combined attack of lips and tongue and teeth at the base of his neck.

Victor's palm almost mimics these movements, tracing small circles on Yuuri's chest while sliding down ever so slightly. Yuuri senses he should do something in turn, but his body seems to move on its own. He arches, trying to ease the pressure accumulating in his abdomen right below where Victor's hand comes to rest. Yuuri lets out a little yelp when Victor's teeth sink into him. Victor mumbles an apology, his tongue swirling against the throbbing spot. Yuuri's fingers tighten in the man's hair but he doesn't pull him off. His toes curl when Victor repeats it - this time carefully nipping his shoulder, applying less pressure yet still sufficient for Yuuri to whimper at the combination of pain muffled by the contrast of soft nibbling. Victor's foot caresses his ankle, providing additional distraction.

It is almost as if Victor is taking on a mission of proving that Yuuri was wrong when mentioning himself being ignored. Yuuri is utterly surrounded by Victor, wrapped in his arms and scent, marked by his lips and now probably tainted by his bites.

His thumb slides under the band of Yuuri's underwear. Victor doesn't move further and keeps his hand still, only the single digit pulling the elastic away as his knuckle rubs the soft skin underneath. Yuuri breaks a little sweat, a shiver running through him as Victor gives his neck a lazy lick, his lips coming up to carefully pinch Yuuri's earlobe.

"You're trembling," Victor shares unnecessarily, the tip of his wicked tongue tracing half circles over Yuuri's ear. "Should I... Stop?"

Yuuri lets out a whimper as Victor indeed ceases touching him, aside from being wrapped around Yuuri. He would much prefer not being asked, at least then he could call it a whim or an impulse or a casualty, instead of accepting the weight of conscious decision. It's the furthest Victor has gone so far, yet Yuuri is fully aware that it's not nearly as far as Victor would like to take things. Victor awaits his response. The rise of his chest is calm and measured against Yuuri's back, nothing like Yuuri's ragged breaths.

"Y-you should." Yuuri bites his own lip, already feeling a sprinkle of regret. Victor sighs. His hand comes up to rub Yuuri's shoulders.

"You are way too stiff." It sounds like a bad pun, considering that Yuuri could agree with this statement, the evidence still pressed against his buttocks. Victor doesn't appear to be upset. His hand is kneading Yuuri's muscles, coaxing the tension out of them. Victor's thumb works over the knot in Yuuri's shoulder and he moans. Victor chuckles. Yuuri hides his face in the pillow. He sounds so needy at the smallest of touches while Victor doesn't let his control slip even a bit.

"So, you say I should stop," Victor drawls, enunciating every syllable of the word "should." His thumb runs over the bumps of Yuuri's vertebrae, the pad of his finger fitting perfectly between the protruding bones. Victor nuzzles against the skin his hand doesn't cover. "But do you _want_ me to?"

Yuuri squirms as Victor continues to place little nips on his shoulder. Yuuri arches his back to give him more access, his mouth falling open as wave of heat rocks through him.

"Yuuri," Victor coos, a careful reminder that he is still expecting a reply. The way Victor says his name makes Yuuri's heart swell. Why does he have to be so gentle and considerate, making Yuuri feel like he's the most important person there is? The pretense angers Yuuri, but his tongue feels too thick and his mouth too dry to tell Victor just that.

"You smell so good," Victor praises, the words laced with emotion Yuuri can't put a name to. "You feel... so good." Lust or longing or both make Victor's voice husky. "But I have no idea what's going on in your head and you won't tell me." Victor props himself up, looming over him. "Do you indulge me?" He questions, his palm sliding up Yuuri's arm with a soft whisper of skin against skin. "Or do you like this too?" Victor hooks his fingers under Yuuri's chin, giving it a little tap in attempt to make Yuuri turn towards him. "Or, perhaps, this?" Victor bends down to place a dry kiss at the corner of Yuuri's mouth.

It's warm and pleasant and Yuuri thinks that he doesn't mind it one bit. He can't help wondering if that's just in Victor's nature - being caring and taking it slow: maybe his attention isn't targeted at Yuuri specifically and he'd do it the same way with anybody else.

"Alright, I won't pressure you for an answer." Victor moves away with a sigh, stretching out on his back. Yuuri remains still, wondering if he's made Victor mad. He counts to a hundred and then turns around, peeking at the man next to him. Victor has his eyes closed and Yuuri is appalled. Could he really have fallen asleep so quickly?

"Victor," he whispers, frowning. "Are you sleeping?"

"Mhmm," Victor hums. A mischievous smile twists the corners of his mouth up. "Definitely am."

Yuuri huffs. He smacks Victor's shoulder but gets his arms caught in firm grip of Victor's fingers.

"My, my, I didn't know you liked it a bit rough," he teases, observing Yuuri through hooded eyes. "But if that's the kind of treatment you give me, I'll accept it gladly." Victor kisses his palm and then gives Yuuri a little bite between his thumb and index finger. Yuuri yelps and Victor releases him. "Oh? Am I not supposed to reciprocate?"

"Victor..."

"Yes, my love?"

"Ouch."

The words hurt. Yuuri contemplates bringing up what Georgiy has told him, opposing Victor with his declaration of still being available. Victor hasn't given him a reason to suspect that he was interested in pursuing anyone else and yet he doesn't consider them to be a couple.

"Did I hurt you? Aw. How do I make it better? Please tell me."

And then it dawns on Yuuri. Victor probably sees it differently because he values intimacy so much. Perhaps these occasional expressions of physical affection aren't enough for him to be truly in love with someone. Maybe he just needs more. Yuuri cannot decide why he himself has been holding back. Would it be that terrible to have Victor as his first? His mind wanders in that direction, of course, but he is quite content to remain where they are now. Victor has always been the one to take the first step and Yuuri tries to match up. What if he just lets go?

Thus Yuuri dives in for a kiss, covering those smiling lips.

 

 


	8. Deflated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like i should give you a warning but at the same time that would spoil things for you. So I bring your attention to two things:  
> 1) the fic's rating has changed, yet it may not be in the way you wanted it to;  
> 2) things may not be the way they seem to be, even if you find plenty of evidence to support your perception of them.

Victor responds to the kiss, his lips parting to the soft intrusion of the tip of Yuuri's tongue. He allows Yuuri to explore, meeting the little movements with muted enthusiasm but not overpowering him. Victor's hand cups Yuuri's cheek, his thumb painting small circles on Yuuri's face. To his disdain, Yuuri's neck gets tired in this position and he has to pull away. Victor grins at him, his tongue darting out to trace the slightly swollen rim of his top lip.

"Do I get just one?" Victor cocks his head to the side. He looks surreal in the moonlight. His thumb slides down to Yuuri's mouth, resting against its moist corner. "Or did you just shut me up to stop the interrogation of how you prefer to be touched?"

Yuuri is too distracted by the rough pad of Victor's finger tickling his lips to compose an answer. He allows the finger to probe deeper before boldly swiping his tongue across it. Victor hisses, baring his teeth in a grimace. Yuuri feels a trickle of heat slither down his spine. He has never seen Victor like this. The impish desire to provoke the man further is too alluring to resist. Yuuri wraps his lips around the digit, his teeth closing below the first knuckle as he gives it a little suck. Victor grunts. He looks Yuuri in the eye, almost challenging him to continue. Yuuri swirls his tongue around the tip of his finger, applying more pressure.

Victor pulls himself up, his digit still captured by the moist heat of Yuuri's mouth. He presses it down, the pad of his thumb laying flat against Yuuri's tongue. Victor gives away another ferocious growl. Closing the distance between them with a languid move, Victor smashes his lips against Yuuri's. Only then does he pull his hand away, his thumb leaving Yuuri's mouth with a wet pop. He uses his hand to press Yuuri's cheeks, pinching his face in a way that makes Yuuri's mouth open up more. Yuuri tries to steady himself, holding onto Victor's arm. He's taken aback by the sudden change, yet he feels a wicked smidgen of pride for reducing the man from smug comments to animalistic noises.

Victor licks Yuuri's parted lips, tongue swiping across them quite messily. Yuuri moans and Victor responds with another wanton lick, his tongue dipping inside Yuuri's mouth. Yuuri digs his nails into Victor's arm, but instead of ordering him to stop, Victor presses their lips together in another bruising kiss. He explores Yuuri's mouth with an unapologetic boldness, tongue gliding over the edge of Yuuri's teeth and violently slapping against Yuuri's tongue when he tries to mimic Victor's movements. Yuuri's heart rises to his throat, the rush of urgency and excitement leaving him gasping for air.

"Victor," Yuuri wheezes as he's released. The man twists his lips into a sly grin, yet his fingers wiping the wetness from Yuuri's face remain soft and careful. Yuuri can sense his cheeks heating up. He didn't realise he was still clenching Victor's arm and he uncurls his fingers, exposing the darkened skin underneath.

"Did I hurt you?" The question isn't necessary as even in the dim light Yuuri sees it for himself. The imprint of his fingers and the half-moon dips his nails left are certain to bruise tomorrow. Victor does not appear to be too concerned about it.

"No," he rests his forehead against Yuuri's, the two sharing the same breath. "I didn't even notice. So, as to my question?”

"I like what we were doing before."

"This?" Victor drags his lips over Yuuri's mouth, planting a kiss in the corner. He probes his lips with the tip of his tongue, a reminder that his eagerness went nowhere.

"N-no. I mean, yes, but I liked you touching me too."

"Oh. Then, for the sake of recreating that experience I must ask you to resume your previous position."

Yuuri snorts but lays down, turning onto his side.

"Is that to your liking?"

"The point was to make it to _your_ liking," Victor lectures.

He returns to kissing the base of Yuuri's neck. Victor's hands tug the hem of Yuuri's shirt, pulling it up until it's tucked in Yuuri's armpits. Victor grunts but lets it be, his hands gliding over the exposed sides.

"How is the experience so far? Have I succeeded at copying what I did before?"

"Yes. Decently."

"Should I continue?" Yuuri hesitates for a moment before whispering a firm "yes". "And how far am I permitted to proceed?"

"Till the... very end."

Yuuri expects Victor to say something, voicing his excitement or going over the top with flourish expressions of gratitude. It is the goal Victor pursued all along, isn't it? He feels Victor's cheek press between his shoulder blades as he is held in the man's embrace.

"Yuuri." The puff of his breath slides across his skin, hot and a little moist. Yuuri tenses up, wondering why Victor stopped. Was he after the chase more than the prize at the end of it?

"Um, Victor?" Yuuri mirrors, uncertain as to what else to say.

Victor hums against his back, snapping out of his slumber. He continues kissing down Yuuri's spine, landing in occasional licks that make Yuuri squirm. They feel a little ticklish and he arches into the touch to increase the pressure. He doubts Victor would appreciate him bursting into giggles.

He holds Yuuri in place, stroking his side. Victor's lips are soft and so are his touches. Victor's palm comes to rest on the slope of Yuuri's hip, long fingers tracing the hip bone and fumbling with the elastic of his underwear. Yuuri feels warm all over. He wonders if he has become more sensitive, wiggling in response to every tantalizing glide of Victor's mouth on his skin. It is both unhurried and urgent, adding to the heavy burning heat low in his belly.

Victor shifts, sliding further down on the mattress. He nibbles on the skin just above Yuuri's underwear. He grunts and bites on top of the briefs, pulling them down. The elastic springs free from his teeth, slapping against Yuuri's butt cheeks.

"Ow, Victor!" Yuuri is more startled than hurt. He giggles a moment later.

"Sorry about that. Failed at being suave yet again."

"Were you trying to?"

"Hey, I'm doing my best to impress you here," Victor scoffs. Yuuri can tell he's amused as well. The knowledge that Victor can also do something embarrassing like that helps him relax. "Show some consideration."

It's difficult to take the words seriously when they come a bit muffled from where Victor currently is. Victor hooks his fingers around the top of the insulting piece of fabric and tugs it halfway down. The underwear refuses to cooperate or rather Yuuri's body is preventing it. His erection is tenting the front of his briefs, holding them in place. Yuuri moans at the increased pressure on his cock.

"Oh, did we encounter yet another obstacle on our way?"

Yuuri grunts. Victor's cooing is endearing and embarrassing in equal measure. He can appreciate the humour as it helps with his nerves, yet he wants to remember his first time as something better than baby talk.

"Victor, do you find... Narration necessary?" Yuuri asks, keeping his tone light. He yelps when he receives a bite in response.

"Cheeky, huh?" Victor huffs. "Pun intended. But you're right, I could find other things to do than talk."

Yuuri exhales sharply when Victor's hand covers his bulge. He forgets to breathe in, the rush of blood so loud in his ears that he wonders if he will black out. Victor pauses, letting the warmth and the weight of his palm caress Yuuri's length. As if testing, Victor's fingertips give it a little brush, unhurriedly sliding along. Yuuri opens his mouth, swallowing air. He didn't expect it to be so different. Victor's touch feels nothing like his own. Anticipation makes him itch under his skin. Yuuri tries to hold back on clasping Victor's hand and having the man rub him properly.

Victor's index finger traces the outline of Yuuri's shaft through the thin fabric. It slowly circles the head of his cock. Yuuri realizes it's already wet, having seeped through his underwear. He turns to hide his face in the pillow, but Victor doesn't comment. His finger continues to massage the tip and Yuuri wonders if he should apologize.

Just when he makes up his mind about it, his intension is cut short. Victor drags his tongue along Yuuri's spine, sidetracking to swirl it in the dimples on Yuuri's lower back. It distracts him enough for the man to succeed at getting the underwear off Yuuri.

Victor's fingers curl around Yuuri's now naked flesh. It feels a lot more intense, the skin to skin touch electrifying. Yuuri rocks his hips a tiny bit, pushing into the hand that clasps him within a perfect tight embrace. Victor helps him, sliding his fist up and twisting it at the top before pulling down. Yuuri elicits a broken sigh, his stomach quivering as the lazy wave of pleasure spreads from his lower abdomen down his legs. He basks in the warmth and the caressing pressure, wishing it could last for eternity. Yuuri's nerve endings send prickles of enjoyment rushing down his spine. They accumulate at the base of his back, right over the place where Victor's own ragged breath lands on Yuuri's skin.

The coiled spring of pleasure winds up tighter when Victor's fingers lightly tap the underside of his cock, right where the taut foreskin connects to the swollen glans. Victor smears a generous amount of precum that has already oozed out onto the sensitive spot. His finger glides across it just right, over and over, making Yuuri's toes curl. The sensation is maddening and his cock throbs in response. It positively melts his bones, having Yuuri shake. His nails graze the sheets. He needs to hold onto something, anything to ground himself. He feels like he's dancing on the verge of a cliff, a hair away from tipping over and crashing down.

Something wet comes in contact with Yuuri's tail bone, startling him. He tenses up when the touch repeats. A warm poke gets more insistent, traveling down the cleft between his butt cheeks. Yuuri clenches them on an instinct, confusion draining some of the previous arousal from him.

Victor groans as he attempts to push his tongue between Yuuri's cheeks. His hands come to grab Yuuri's butt, kneading the firm muscle and carefully parting them.

"V-victor? Ah!"

The tip of Victor's tongue slithers in-between, flexing and swirling against his hole. It presses flat against the spot, rubbing up and down before shifting to quick pulsing strokes in an attempt to push through. Victor moans, completely mortifying him. It's plain wrong and Yuuri squirms to get away, but Victor moves with him, not breaking away from his task.

Yuuri tries to tolerate it, scrunching his face up. It's not so much the wetness or the strangeness of it all, but how it fills him with embarrassment. His stomach flips at the idea of Victor's tongue tasting him there, even if the man himself doesn't seem to display any distress.

"Victor," he tries again, uncertain how he should approach this. He isn't comfortable and Victor cannot be either, most likely hanging off the bed at this point. The man only doubles his efforts at the sound of his name. He licks and licks him for eternity, tongue restlessly lapping at him. Victor presses his whole face in the cleft of Yuuri's butt. It must be suffocating. Yuuri has never been as ashamed and self aware as at this moment, being explored by the man's tongue, continuously drawing patterns on his skin. Victor's thumbs slither between Yuuri's ass cheeks to pry them even more open, exposing him to the assault of his hot wet mouth. They dig into the flesh on the rim of his puckered anus, rubbing over the slicked up tender skin.

"Victor," Yuuri hisses. He bites his lip, trying to form a sentence which wouldn't sound like it popped up straight from a low class porno. Words don't come. "Could you?.." He slides his hands into the man's hair, wondering if it's okay to just tug on it to get him to stop. "Ah, Victor!" Yuuri clenches his fist when there is a little suction implied. He is utterly horrified. "Vitya, enough, please," he groans.

Thankfully, he is heard this time. Victor makes his way back up, nipping Yuuri's shoulder. The mattress creaks when Victor rolls off the bed.

"Where are you?.."

"Not far," Victor reassures him. His voice is rather thick and comes a bit strained. Does he feel awkward now too?

There is a soft rustle followed by a thud. Yuuri catches the end of the phrase Victor mutters, complaining about the clothes he dropped on the floor himself. Yuuri hears a drawer being opened, a ramble of things rolling around and the snap of it sliding shut. He remains curled on his side, legs pulled to his chest when Victor climbs back onto the mattress. Another sound - the crack of plastic right behind him – is followed by something thick and sticky smacking right across Yuuri's butthole.

"Too cold?" Victor guesses at his sharp intake of breath. Fingers withdraw, pausing before resuming the touch. The substance smeared on him is indeed warmer now, but it doesn't make anything better.

The realization that Victor had come prepared startles Yuuri more than the unexpected touch. While Yuuri fidgeted and steeped in his doubts, Victor had been ready all along. Speaking about his lack of feelings for Yuuri during the interview, Victor knew this would be happening later. His confidence didn't waiver even the slightest, as if the scenario was unavoidable.

The inside of Yuuri's nose and the back of his throat burn, accompanied by the prickle in the corners of his eyes. He tries to swallow to rid himself of it, but he can't. He makes a choking sound and a little sob, biting the corner of the pillow to keep it down.

The pressure on his rear increases. His body gives in, allowing Victor's finger to slip inside. It isn't horrible, but rather something that would take Yuuri a while to get accustomed to. The finger just remains there and Yuuri fights the instinct to clamp down on it. With a little rotation and slow slide another one joins in, his body expanding with disgusting ease. The pressure and the sensation of being filled are odd, yet he doesn't experience anything beyond that. It's almost disappointing, as from what Yuuri knows there should be pain or divine pleasure or both.

"Yuuri." Victor moans his name, returning the spark of previous enjoyment to shoot through Yuuri's middle. Not for long, through. Victor's digits begin moving, a careful prolonged slide out and an equally unhurried push upwards. They curl inside Yuuri, spreading a little to loosen him up. Victor moans again as if he was on the brink of losing it. He latches onto Yuuri's back, open-mouthed kisses quick and maddening. He rests his forehead against Yuuri's shoulder, panting.

"Oh god," he grunts. "Oh, oh Yuuri."

Yuuri thinks he can feel Victor's hand tremble. Is it his impatience showing, him being too eager to proceed further, or can he get anything simply out of touching him? Unlikely as it is, Victor seems to be enjoying it. There is no rush. The fingers inside him prepare him gently, stretching and coaxing him open. Yuuri would much rather get it over with, he thinks. Yet he gasps when the third one attempts to squeeze inside. It gets more challenging to accommodate them and Victor has to withdraw to add more lube.

The container hits the headboard when he tosses it. The lid must have not been snapped shut tightly, as the artificial fragrance of green apple creeps up on Yuuri, progressively getting stronger. He can almost taste it when he presses the tip of his tongue to his palate. He is certain to associate this smell with what is happening from now on.

"Yuuri." Victor nuzzles his neck, pressing himself flush against his back. Yuuri sighs in surprise when something blunt and damp grazes his ass. Victor definitely is naked now, yet it doesn't make him as nervous as he'd imagine. But then the lack of ecstasy upon being penetrated by fingers isn't something he predicated either.

It's not just some detached fingering, Yuuri tries to tell himself. The man snuggled up behind him is Victor. The Victor he had dreamed of is murmuring against his skin, breaking the string of little praises by soft kisses. Victor, who allows him time to adjust, who is slow and considerate and... _"Victor who doesn't love you,"_ a nasty voice inside his mind prompts. Yuuri wills it to shut up, pressing his lips tight to avoid screaming it out loud. _"Victor who isn't shy to let the whole of Russia know that you do not matter."_

The itch in Yuuri's throat returns. He hates thinking like that, absolutely hates ruining the moment by his own poisonous thoughts. Maybe it will get better if he gives Victor a chance to do things his way. Maybe by sharing his heart - and the bed - with Victor, he'll be able to gradually make the man fall for him. The shadow of doubt clings to his back, hugging him in a tighter embrace than Victor could master.

"Yuuri, I can't. Uhhh Yuuri,” Victor rasps. Rushed words bumping into each other in a string of pleas make little sense, yet Yuuri knows what he's being asked for. “P-please. A-ah!”

Victor is rutting against him, hard and leaking. Yuuri decides there is no point in turning back now.

“Yes.”

Victor whines. He tries to keep his hand still, fingers buried in Yuuri. There is a rustle of plastic wrap and the noise of Victor blowing something off. Victor fumbles behind him, muttering under his breath. Yuuri groans in relief as Victor withdraws his fingers, but they are immediately replaced by something else.

Yuuri is slippery and sticky all over, which makes it even more clumsy. He can feel Victor's hand press against him as the man guides himself in. It's worse than the fingers and Yuuri sucks air in through his gritted teeth. He wasn't prepared for the insistent burning sensation the stretching would bring. His body fights being filled this way, no matter how much Yuuri tries to will himself to relax. His chest aches from holding his breath for too long. His eyes overflow with the tears that collected in the corners. He sobs when Victor pushes further, clasping his hand over his mouth to mask it. It feels like he's being intentionally split in two, unnaturally hard shaft of Victor's cock trying to rip him apart. Yuuri starts panting, his heart thumping in his throat.

“Yuuri,” Victor moans, his thick voice sending a shiver through Yuuri. His fingers brush Yuuri's damp hair off his forehead and gently rub his scalp.

Victor's touch is unbearably kind, softly gliding over his sweaty skin with no signs of repulsion. Victor hooks his arm under Yuuri's, cuddling him to his chest. Yuuri arches, feeling another torturous inch sink into him. He doesn't know what's worse, this gradual slide and pauses, filled by Victor's whispered nonsense between the kisses, or if it were rough and fast and over quickly.

Yuuri suspects there must be something wrong with him. The dull throbbing pain won't go away no matter how much he wills himself to relax. He feels the trickle of his tears on his hand, hot and pathetic. He bites his fingers, holding back on his cries.

"You feel amazing," Victor grunts, rocking his hips back and driving them forward. "Oh god it's so good." The man nuzzles his neck, humming his praise. It vibrates through Yuuri, making him feel worse, showing how inadequate he is. "You are doing so great. I want you so badly, uh." Victor moans again. He traces the shell of Yuuri's ear with kisses, moving across his cheek. He stops abruptly when his lips encounter the wetness.

"Yuuri," he drawls. He sounds uncertain, more puzzled as to what's happening than angry. Victor brushes his fingers against Yuuri's cheek, collecting the moisture. He freezes. "Yuuri."

The surprise in his voice breaks Yuuri. He makes a loud, pitiful wail. It scratches his throat, breaking the damp open for the rest of the sobs that pour out of him. Victor moves away without a word.

Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut to avoid the merciless light cutting through the room. He covers his head with the blanket, curling into a tighter ball to hide from everything. He hears the hiss of running water. Yuuri howls at the idea of Victor being so disgusted by him that he needs to wash his touch off immediately.

"I'm just going to clean you," Victor says calmly, returning to the room. Yuuri winces when a warm cloth slides between his butt cheeks. Victor does it matter-of-factly, pulling Yuuri's shirt down when he's done. "Turn over," he orders in the same leveled voice. Yuuri shakes his head vigorously, although the movement is probably invisible under the blanket. "Yuuri, come out and let me wipe your face."

"No."

"Why not?" It sounds like Victor is trying to reason with a child and Yuuri feels even more immature at his own response

"D-don't want you to look at me."

Victor releases a long sigh. There is a thud of his feet on the carpet and the sharp click of the light switch.

"Come on now. I am barely able to see you." A little amusement seeps into his voice when he adds "I swear it is a different towel now."

Victor waits for him to push the blanket off his face. He wipes the tears and snot off Yuuri's cheeks in several brief strokes, dropping the towel onto the carpet.

"Do you want some water?" Yuuri shakes his head again and despite Victor's claim of not being able to see him, there's enough light in the room for him to detect the refusal. "Okay then."

Victor crawls under the blanket, stretching on his back.

"Yuuri," he clears his throat. "I apologise.” It sounds so dry and formal that Yuuri finds no suitable words for his response.

“Why didn't you say anything?" he adds hastily and Yuuri pulls his head in his shoulders, bracing himself for the accusations to come. "No matter," Victor calms quickly. The lack of any emotion in his words makes Yuuri want to cry again. "I never meant for things to be like this and had I known how you felt, they wouldn't be."

Yuuri has nothing to say. He breathes through his mouth noisily, his nose completely plugged up. He peeks at Victor's profile through his lashes, grateful that the man has his eyes closed.

"Are you mad?" Yuuri asks. The corners of Victor's mouth are dropping down, but other than that his face is passionless. The imposed detachment hurts, but maybe Yuuri is seeing things just as they are.

"No."

"Disappointed?”

“No.”

Yuuri twists his fingers, adding in a beat. “Upset?”

“No.” It certainly cannot be true, but Victor speaks up again before Yuuri gets a chance to take another guess. “Yuuri, please. Lets just... rest.” He softens up, patting the mattress to his right. “Come here... If you want.”

Yuuri scoots closer. Victor raises his arm, making room for him and Yuuri tucks himself under it. Victor presses his head to his chest and Yuuri resists just a little before leaning into the touch. He makes sure not to have his lower half come in contact with Victor's still very much naked body.

“I'll get you covered with snot,” he warns but Victor chuckles.

“Deal.”

Yuuri's shoulders get a firm squeeze as Victor pulls him closer, placing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Victor?”

“Yes?”

“Good night.”

“Mhmm.”

Victor's skin is warm under his cheek and his scent is still recognizable under the clingy fragrance of green apples. Despite everything, Yuuri is calm. He knows he's safe his embrace. He feels drained and his body wants nothing more than close his eyes, yet his mind refuses to pretend nothing happened.

“Victor?” Yuuri shifts until his face is hovering inches away from Victor's. In a sense, it would be easier if he was mad. Yuuri craves reassurance and the knowledge that it is not indifference that makes Victor so leveled and rational all of a sudden. Whatever is the case, Yuuri can't help a part of him being relieved that the worse is over.

The man sighs. He cradles Yuuri's face in his palms, pressing two feather-light kisses to his lids. Yuuri isn't satisfied with it and stretches his neck, covering Victor's mouth. He melts when Victor responds, his lips gliding over Yuuri's in the way that has become familiar. He does break away when Yuuri attempts to deepen the kiss.

“Sleep.”

This time Yuuri doesn't argue. His head feels heavy yet it's blissfully empty from any thought.

When Yuuri wakes up, the side of the bed Victor slept on is already cold.

 


	9. The Talk

Yuuri rolls over, burrowing his face in Victor's pillow. There is no way of telling what time it is. The same bland greyness of the sky greets him, but he finds he's almost used to its bleak colour. Yuuri doesn't know when the check out time is, but certainly he wouldn't just be left behind. He sighs, turning onto his side and notices his suitcase standing at the door. His stuff is placed on top of it in a neat pile of folded clothes. An invitation to get out? He doesn't spot any of Victor's things around the room and assumes they have already been packed.

Annoyed, Yuuri throws the blanket off himself, hitting the bedside table and almost knocking the lamp off it. He finds he cares little if it tumbles over and breaks. If Victor could afford to get two rooms and never use one, he can damn well pay for some lamp. Yuuri grunts, punching the pillow for good measure. He definitely won't be thinking of Victor. He refuses to speculate on how it will be to come face to face with him. If he didn't feel guilty, he wouldn't flee like that. Unless he was too turned off by the idea of... Well, whatever. Victor isn't here and there's no use in making guesses as to the reasons of his absence.

Yuuri is sore, too aware of an unpleasant throb in his aching muscles. Still, he isn't prepared for a stab of pain when he tries to sit up. He gasps, but the pain only intensifies when Yuuri tries to adjust to it. He stands up, keeping his back awkwardly straight and avoiding any jerky movements.

The several steps it takes him to reach the bathroom occupy him for a lot longer than expected. He feels chafed and swollen, as if he was pierced through and survived for longer than necessary to feel the side effects.

Yuuri makes it to the sink, picking up his glasses but putting them back onto the shelf. From what he can see in the mirror, he thinks he can justify Victor not wanting to stay. He looks hideous. His face is puffed up and his lids are the shade of vivid pink that compliments his bloodshot eyes. Yuuri twists the tap, sticking his fingers under the icy water until they turn numb. He presses them to his lids in hope for the cold to reduce some of the swelling. Not that it does much.

To avoid the jabs of pain he has to watch his every move, taking care in how he places his legs. Yuuri takes a quick shower, turning the water on as hot as he can bear, drowning the room in steam.

He wonders if he is late for breakfast. Maybe, he shouldn't bother going downstairs, but he has absolutely nothing to do here. Especially since sitting down would be hell. Yuuri avoids looking at the bed when he returns to the room, choosing to study the carpet under his toes. He hisses when he crouches down to pick up his clothes. He doesn't see Victor's shirt in the pile. Not that he wanted to wear it, but the idea of the man trying to erase his presence in the room is hurtful.

Putting the jeans on is every ounce the torture he dreaded. Yuuri hopes that walking around will do him some good and praises the existence of elevators. He almost wishes he could stay at the motel for another day. He doubts he can survive the ride back to the city.

The girl at the lobby greets him with the same plastic grin on her face. She asks him how he slept in her cheerful yet robotic voice, her accent coming through thick, and gestures to the hall where the reception was held the previous night. Yuuri hears the hum of voices and the occasional clink of metal as cutlery is scraped against the plates. He thanks the receptionist for pointing out where exactly he doesn't intend to go.

Yuuri notices Yakov standing close to the door, frowning as usual, every inch a Cerberus. He mutters a nonchalant greeting, which is acknowledged with a quick nod. Yuuri spots Victor's almost white hair further in the room and averts his eyes quickly. He turns around, banishing the idea of running. He panics nevertheless as he hears a tap of quick confident steps catch up with him.

"Vitya," Yakov rumbles behind him.

"Just a sec. Yuuri," Victor calls. He has to walk around to look at him. Yuuri takes a step back, uncomfortable to be standing so close. "How are you feeling?" he whispers.

Victor looks normal, aside from slightly darker circles under his eyes. His shirt collar is impeccably crisp, his hair framing his face in a practiced false disarray. Yuuri is ashamed of his bloodshot eyes and the stretched cuffs of his sweater.

"How do you think I'm feeling?" he mumbles.

"Did you have to use the ointment?"

"The what?"

"Vitya!"

"Yes, yes, coming!" Victor shouts over his shoulder. He quickly turns back to Yuuri. His gaze is unexpectedly forward, while Yuuri tries to look anywhere but at him. "I left the tube on top of the note."

"Um..."

"You didn't see it, did you?"

"Wh-well I..."

"So you assumed I just left," Victor doesn't sound angry but Yuuri knows he is. His narrowed eyes betray him, even if his mouth spills passionless words. "And that is why you are sneaking around like that?"

"I'm not... sneaking." Yuuri doesn't like being called out. He hoped he could avoid bumping into Victor because he expected him to be either cold or excessively caring. Instead, Victor makes him feel like he needs to justify himself, exposing how childish his behaviour may be perceived..

"Right." Victor sighs. Yuuri thinks he is disappointed. He doesn't know what he can say. He is lost as to what to do with _this_ Victor, who looks at him calmly, without hiding behind blurted excuses. A part of him is aware he cannot blame Victor for anything, yet he expected guilt. "We have not more than an hour left, so I think..."

"Vee-tenka," a honeyed voice interrupts him. Victor pinches the bridge of his nose and swipes his palm over his face. When he drops his hand, he's grinning from ear to ear. Yuuri finds the abrupt change unsettling, but it's not directed at him.

"Elena, my sincerest apologies." Victor clenches his hands to his heart and swings around on his heels. It's that clingy woman from yesterday. Yuuri grits his teeth as she coos to Victor. He can't tell what exactly he finds unpleasant about her. When she loops her arm around Victor's, something swells in his chest, clawing its way out. "...told you about?"

"Hm?"

"Elena, this is my coachee. Yuuri, this is..."

"Helen."

"Of Troy, no less," Victor adds and both of them giggle. Yuuri feels like he missed the joke entirely. Surely, she looks pretty, but not to that extent.

"Teez zeh companee neihm," the woman explains. ”Es-Troi. Beeldin beeziness.” She sticks her hand out, fingers pointed towards the floor. Yuuri notes she didn't go easy on the jewelry, stopping on the brink of being excessive.

She looks at him expectantly. Yuuri has few options - he can ignore the outstretched hand, clumsily shake it or follow through with the obsession the Russians seem to have with hand kissing. Skipping the latter is tempting, but he doesn't want to have Victor compensate for it with more touching.

"Enchanted," Yuuri says curtly. He briefly presses his lips to Elena's knuckles, feeling the smooth underside of her rings as he holds her fingers in a loose grip. Victor cocks his eyebrow in surprise, but seems impressed to have Yuuri follow through.

"You are a veree lucky young men tu get Veetenka all tu yourselve," Elena says. Yuuri cringes at the way she pronounces Victor's name. She turns to look at Victor. "Az eet eez his first t-haime, I trust you veell gou eezi on him."

"Wh... Uh," Yuuri's eyes widen. Elena shoots him a sweet little smile.

"Oh, but Yuuri and I have already worked before. Last year. And I'm pretty sure Yuuri got the shorter end of the stick here. He's the only one adventurous enough to pick me as coach," Victor explains cheerfully. "So we're back to the routine. Now sure who's hard on whom though.” Victor says it lightly, but Yuuri frowns. “Should we finish our meal before it turns cold?"

"Yehs. Plezhur tu meet you," Elena says politely.

Yuuri is disappointed she isn't rude or dull.

"I-i will catch up with you. Don't wait."

Victor gives him a curious look but doesn't insist. Yuuri cannot bear maintaining the smile when every step he takes results in a throbbing ache pulsing through his lower back. Limping behind the two is a lot easier, with an added bonus of not imitating interest in a chit chat.

Yuuri realizes it was a mistake as soon as Victor puts his arm around Elena, his hand resting on the curve of her waist as he guides her forward. Yuuri stares at his pale fingers against the dark green fabric, feeling the anger bubble up in him. There is only so much betrayal he can take and he feels like his cup is filled to the brim.

Yuuri purses his lips, turning left in the conference room out of defiance. He doesn't want the love birds to think he's stalking them. He walks to the little table hosting several shiny tubes with cups aligned next to them. Yuuri pushes the dark knob, allowing steaming liquid to pour into his cup. He aimed for tea but he guessed the label incorrectly. He decides to go along with it, not comfortable with wasting things.

The coffee is bitter, but not unpleasantly so. Yuuri can detect a pinch of spice, perhaps cinnamon, lingering on his tongue. Sugar would probably help the taste, but it's better if he skips extra calories. Yuuri opts for a grain cookie instead, hushing the inner voice that prompts him it's just as full of sugar. He sinks his teeth into the treat, turning around to observe the the room. Mila waves at him, quickly returning to the conversation with the man to her left. He gets a nod from Georgiy, and it makes him feel warm. They won't probably keep in touch once Victor and him split ways, but at least they might miss him.

Yakov comes into the center of the room some time later. He gives a little speech and people at the tables start shaking hands. Well, the breakfast seems to be over. When most people leave, Yakov waves his hand, gesturing for his team to come closer. Yuuri leaves his post at the wall too, unhurriedly approaching. He could hear the man just fine from where he was, yet it doesn't help him understand Russian. Someone bumps into Yuuri's back rather forcefully.

"Ow."

"You look like shit," Yurio announces out of the blue, skipping the greeting.

"Thanks. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Thought you should know," the boy shrugs. Yuuri huffs, noting the imprint of the pillow on his face. Criticizing people first thing after waking up is bound to help him excel in life. "Rough night?"

"How do you mean?"

Yurio squints, eying him up and down.

"I bet you and Gosha stayed up halfway through the night, drinking like a pair of swines and then did some real dumb stuff."

"Hah, well, what happens in... Wherever we are, stays between me and Georgiy."

"Tsch, sure. Mila has probably filmed it all."

"She's game," Yuuri teases. "The gang members keep their mouths shut and their phones locked. Anyways, what did he say?" Yuuri jerks his head at Yakov as people around them shift, slowly moving towards the exit.

"In short, that we'll be leaving promptly."

"Yuuri, I'll get your stuff, don't worry." Victor catches up with them as they start following the others.

"Don't forget to lick his toes and sniff his butt afterwards, like a good lil' pup you are," Yurio sneers. Yuuri's face gets hot, but Victor doesn't even twitch his brow.

"Say, does it get tiring? Crossing the line between distasteful and vulgar so many times a day?"

Yakov doesn't waste time on words. He smacks Yurio on the back of his head, grunting something to him in Russian. The boy sulks, rubbing his head. He shoots his coach a dirty look, twisting his mouth.

"Hey, why me?" Yurio complains. "Victor was rude to me too! It is cause he's too tall for you to reach, huh?" Yakov glares at him darkly and the boy snaps his mouth shut.

"Woof," Victor adds quietly when Yakov walks away.

Yuuri stands at the doors of the motel, not willing to go out without his coat. He could just return to the room and pick it up, but he isn't prepared to face Victor one on one so soon. Waiting downstairs is silly too, but at least it postpones the need to have a talk.

"There." Victor appears in the hallway, dragging the suitcase. He stops and gives Yuuri his coat and scarf, which were draped over his arm. "Keep a seat for me while I put these away, will you?"

Yuuri walks to the bus, being the first one to get to it. Other skaters are either busy with putting the luggage away or talking to each other, in no rush to board. Georgiy is sucking on his cigarette, chuckling over something with a shorter guy Yuuri saw at the shoot yesterday.

Yuuri gets in, choosing the window seat near the front. He carefully lowers himself on it, jumping up almost immediately as the wave of pain rolls through him. Great. Yuuri takes his coat off, curling it nest-like on the seat. The extra cushioning is a slight improvement. When Yuuri leans on his side towards the window, he finds it bearable. That may change when the bus starts rocking and vibrating with movement.

Finally, the rest of people begin boarding the bus as well. Victor gives him a little smile as he pushes his scarf into the overhead compartment. Yurio takes advantage of the pause, squeezing before the man to plant himself in the seat next to Yuuri.

"This seat is already taken," Victor says.

"Yeah it is. By me."

"Yura."

"What?"

"This is my seat."

"Doubt that. I see no Nikiforov trademark."

"Yurio, I was holding this seat for Victor," Yuuri interferes. "Could you please move to another one?"

"I certainly could..."

"Thank you."

"...but why would I?"

"Will you stop being a child and move already?" Victor presses, his normal politeness wavering a little. "Please."

The boy huffs and crosses his arms on front of his chest. He goes even further, raising his knees and pushing them against the back of the seat in front of him.

"I'm moving nowhere."

Victor runs his hand through his hair but ceases arguing. He sits down opposite Yurio, trying to get Yuuri's attention. The boy throws his hood on as if intentionally trying to occupy as much space as possible and block Yuuri from sight. The bus quickly fills in. Yuuri has to lean towards his right more when it starts moving to ease some of the pressure off his bottom.

"Are you sitting on your coat?" Yurio asks in a tone that suggests he is personally offended by that.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"For warmth."

"You're weird," Yurio huffs, pulling out the ball of tangled wire from his pocket.

"You're the one who chose to sit next to the weirdo."

Yurio gives him a crooked smile. He quickly pulls the earphones free and plugs them into his phone.

"Want to share?.." He offers Yuuri one of the ear buds, the screaming of some band coming through it loud and clear even from the distance.

"No. But thank you." Yuuri rejects the truce offering but he feels quite flattered by it. Yurio shrugs. His fingers begin tapping his knee in rhythm with the music. Yuuri turns his head to look out of the window. He occupies himself by relaxing his eyes and watching the scenery blur into a grey stripe that is broken by patches of emptiness.

The route back seems to be shorter. They get to the city rather quickly and the bus slows down, crawling through the streets.

"Yuuri, wanna join us for coffee?" Mila turns in her seat in front of him, peeking over the head rest. "By us I mean Gosha and me. And this one if he behaves." Yurio shoots her a glare from under his brows and Mila sticks her tongue out.

"I've already had coffee today," Yuuri says.

"So? Is that a yes or a no to my offer?"

"I'm afraid, that's a no," Victor leans over, joining the conversation.

"Oh, bossy," Mila teases. "But why would you decide for Yuuri?"

"I'm not. Yuuri knows I've booked us a table at Tchai-coff." Yuuri definitely wasn't aware of it. He could challenge Victor's words, but Mila is quicker to reply.

"We can come too."

Victor opens and shuts his mouth. It's obvious that he didn't want Mila to come along, but he lacks a reasonable excuse to prohibit her.

"Um no we cannot!" Georgiy yells.

He hangs off his seat, half-turned towards the back of the bus to see the rest of them.

"Why not?" Mila says innocently. Georgiy makes big eyes at Victor.

"Because the one who invites must pay. Gosha has no such money."

"Hhmph."

"Can we compromise and at least take Yurio with us? Please?" Mila asks.

"Absolutely not."

"I can pay for myself, asshole," Yurio protests.

"Ah. But Yakov forbided us to come close to each other. Bus is necessary. Coffee is not."

"Screw you," the boy hisses.

"You wish. But I do not prefer children."

Yurio kicks the back of Georgiy's chair. The man continues snickering even after Mila mumbles something to him.

Yuuri feels left out. He's a bit envious at how easily they can engage in a good-natured banter, even if their words are a bit too harsh for his taste. He is relieved he doesn't have to be a third wheel to Mila and Georgiy, but it's quite nice that she considered asking him.

They arrive at the rink soon after. Yuuri waits for everybody else to move before making it to the way out himself.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Mila chirps. Yurio tries to duck from her kiss, but Mila grabs his shoulders and places a loud smooch on his cheek. It makes Yurio screech and swat her away, but the girl only giggles. She catches Yuuri off guard when she jumps and gives him a peck too.

"Bye," he mumbles, one arm stuck in the coat as he struggles to find the sleeve for his other arm.

"Till tomorrow."

Victor receives two kisses, gracefully leaving down for Mila to reach him. He picks Yuuri's coat by its collar, pulling it up and helping him slide into it.

"Hey, why does he receive twice as many?" Georgiy sulks. "And I got none."

"And you won't if you keep complaining."

"Off to great start."

"And whose fault is it?"

"Nikiforov's!"

"I would ask you not to mention my name in vain."

"Or I will anger the skater gods?" Georgiy rolls his eyes. "I take the chance. Anyways..."

"Have a great time." Victor smiles. "Yura, you need a ride?"

"Wait, do you have your car here?" Yuuri asks.

"Mhmm."

"Why did we take the subway then?"

"To avoid traffic jams."

"Um..."

"Yeah. Purchasing a luxury car to take the subway every now and then makes perfect sense," Yurio huffs. "Overcompensation as it is."

"Oh, since you seem to be the expert, I'll let you be the judge of that," Victor says. His voice is neutral but he bites his lip, holding his grin back. "So, do you need a lift or not?"

"Yeah, but I need to pick up some stuff from my locker."

"What could you have possibly left in there?"

"Not something of your business."

"As close to the gratitude from you as I'll ever get. Alright, we'll wait in the car." Victor takes the luggage and starts walking. "But we'll leave in ten minutes if you don't show up."

Yurio huffs but almost runs to the entrance of the rink.

"Yuuri, are you coming?"

"Yeah." Yuuri follows Victor around. This time they walk all the way around the building to the small parking lot Yuuri never noticed before.

"I can carry my own stuff," Yuuri says defensively.

"I never said you couldn't."

"Yeah, but..."

"I don't mind it." Victor nods to a guy sitting in the booth at the parking lot entrance. He makes his way around the gate, squeezing his himself through the narrow space. Victor pulls the car keys out without slowing his steps. "You can get in. It's rather chilly today."

Yuuri climbs into the seat, keeping his back as straight as possible. Victor joins him shortly, starting the engine and turning the heater on. Yuuri shivers as the warm blow of air tickles his face.

“Well.” Victor says gravely. Yuuri gulps. “I suppose getting a coffee before we talk isn't such a bad idea. After we drop Yurio off.”

“What... what do you want to talk about?”

“Plenty of things. Start light at the cafe and keep the serious stuff to when we get home.”

“S-serious stuff?” Yuuri feels his heart speed up. He knew it was coming, he expected it but it still hurts. The questions pile up in his mouth, burning it like acid. He chooses the most obvious one, even if it sounds really pitiful. “Are you breaking up me?” Yuuri blurts out. Victor frowns. “Because of her?”

“What? No. How even?..” Victor shakes his head. He leans over, looking Yuuri directly in the eyes. “I am not – breaking up – with you. Is that what had you so worried all along?” It's a yes and a no, Yuuri thinks. He can't really be sure it was just that one thing, but on the grand scale... “And who is that mysterious 'she'?”

Yuuri shudders when Yurio gets into the back seat, closing the door with a bang. He's talking on his phone, short phrases amplifying the annoyance in his voice. He grunts and hisses into his phone one more time before handling it to Victor. Whatever angered Yurio has no effect on him. The man follows the trend of short responses, yet they sound polite and weighted. Victor raises his brows in surprise but seems to give a confirmation before hanging up.

“What was that about?” Yuuri asks.

“Yakov wanted to make sure I would drive Yurio back home. And he gave directions.”

“Like I need to be babysat.”

“You need to accept he cares.” Victor looks into the rear view mirror, trying to see the boy better.

“He doesn't trust me enough to walk to your car! I bet he asked to talk to you only to make sure I was with you like I said.”

“Agree to disagree.” Victor starts the engine and turns the wheel to his right to steer out of the parking lot.

The streets are mostly deserted and they drive in silence. Yuuri finds it unfriendly, yet in order to talk to Yurio, he'd have to twist himself in an uncomfortable position. He glances at the boy's reflection in the mirror, but Yurio is staring at the flashing dull scenery behind the window. Yuuri looks at Victor, who holds the wheel calmly, not appearing to be bothered by the silence in the slightest.

Yuuri sighs. The talk that is looming ahead makes him uneasy. He looks at his hands folded in his lap, unconsciously picking on the skin of his thumb. He knows what Victor wants to discuss. He'll probably ask him why he cried yesterday and Yuuri will not be able to find words to explain it.

“There you are,” Victor chirps, stopping at the curb next to a tall apartment building. Yurio hesitates for a moment, giving him an odd look. “If you are expecting a good bye kiss, I'm not giving any. As far as I'm aware, Yuuri doesn't either.”

Yurio scowls and practically darts out of the car. He yanks his backpack, pulling it along with him and slams the door with enough force for Yuuri to feel the car rock a little.

“Victor,” Yuuri says reproachfully. “Why did you do that?”

Victor rubs his eyes with the pads of his fingers.

“Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Why do you pick on him?”

“Are you really clueless, Yuuri?”

“I wouldn't ask otherwise.”

“Ah. Then it's best we leave things as they are. Or it'll make it all even more awkward.”

“I think we've already had this conversation.”

“Oh?”

“And it went the exact same way!”

“Ah.”

“Victor.” Yuuri clenches his jaw, wondering if he should even say it. “You are the one who wanted to talk, but we cannot communicate if all I get are just sounds.”

“Mhmm.”

“Victor!”

“I'm sorry, hah. No, really.” Victor gives Yuuri's hand a quick squeeze. “No more teasing, I promise.” He turns left, parking between two cars already sitting there. “And I do think we have a lot to discuss, but Yura's behaviour isn't a priority.”

“I was talking about _your_ behaviour,” Yuuri corrects him.

“Those two are directly linked.” Victor gets the car back onto the road. “Strange how Yakov asked me to drive Yurio to his place, huh?”

“Yurio's grandpa got sick. So I guess Yakov offered to stay with him.”

“And how would you know that?” Victor cocks his head. He releases the seatbelt with a click and the black stripe disappears into the holder with a swoosh.

“He told me that.”

“Yurio. Told you something personal.” The man shakes his head. “And you still don't see the obvious?” He sighs again. “Come on, let's get you something to eat. You had just that cookie today.”

“You noticed?” It's hard to keep the surprise out of his voice. Victor locks the car and walks ahead, pulling the door open for Yuuri.

“Why wouldn't I notice?” Victor says something to a waiter, who nods and gestures for them to follow. There is a coat hanger next to their table and the waiter waits for them to undress before placing the menu in front of them. Victor asks him for two cappuccinos – convenient that the word is the same in Russian – and starts flipping through the menu as the waiter walks away.

“Weren't you too busy with her?”

Victor raises his head.

“The 'she' pops up again. Who is this femme fatale?”

“Elena.”

“Elena? What about her?”

“You spent the whole evening – and morning – next to her!”

Victor blinks. His lips curl into a little smile.

“Naturally. She agreed to provide the funds for my costumes for the nationals.”

“She... she looked like she'd prefer to see you without the costume.”

“Yuuri,” Victor drawls. He props his chin with his hand, smiling even wider. His little finger slides across his bottom lip in a way that Yuuri finds too distracting. Victor lowers his voice to a confiding whisper. “Are you jealous?” Yuuri purses his lips together.

If he starts denying it, Victor will take it as a proof for his point. The man keeps grinning, that cheeky knowing smile making him unbearably smug. He is too amused for Yuuri's taste over something that bothered him quite a bit.

"Even if I am, could you look less pleased?"

"I doubt it. That's just too precious."

Yuuri squirms in his seat.

"Do you find my worries that entertaining?"

Victor's smile fades away.

"No. But I see no reason for you to be worried about it."

"You... You were touching her!"

"Yuuri..."

"Openly. As if putting that on display on purpose! You didn't leave her side the whole evening!"

The man at the next table turns to watch them when Yuuri raises his voice. Yuuri looks down, curling his hands into fists.

"It wasn't like that. It's different. I was just doing my job."

Yuuri gulps. He wants to believe it, but the doubts gnaw at his chest.

"Is it... Is it different when you touch me?" he whispers, barely audible. Victor has to lean forward to catch it. Yuuri feels pathetic for asking a question like that. He sounds so childish and needy, desperate for a confirmation. His eyes begin to water and he tries to quickly blink the tears away. Gosh, he doesn't need a public breakdown with him drowning in his own snot.

"Of course," Victor replies softy. His voice is kind and soothing. Yuuri can't bring himself to meet Victor's eyes. He looks at his hand laying on top of the dark tablecloth. Yuuri finds the words to be comforting, but he craves something more tangible. He pushes his own hand forward, stretching his fingers to reach Victor.

"So, what would you like to order?" Victor asks too cheerfully, pulling away. He grasps the hard spine of the menu, flipping through it. "They seem to have quite a decent assortment of salads and for the hot meals..."

Yuuri pays little attention to what Victor is saying. He looks at him in disbelief, his chest tightening to the point where he struggles to draw a breath. He gulps the air, feeling like he's about to drown. Yuuri grabs the edge of the table, digging his nails into it. It passes quick enough. The astonishment morphs into rage, hot and thick, crawling under his skin. He cannot just believe it. Victor keeps on talking, his voice cheerful and his face exaggeratively smiley. Fake. It's all fake and Yuuri cannot wrap his mind around how he isn't yet sick with his own hypocrisy.

"What would you like?"

The anger vanishes as abruptly as it started, leaving him tired. Yuuri is hollow and drained. He no longer finds energy to argue.

"I want to go."

"Are you sure? You haven't even looked at the menu."

“I'm sure. I'd rather go h...” Yuuri trips over the words 'home'. It falls heavy against his tongue. “Just take me... to your place.”

Victor registers the change. He presses his lips together in a way that makes the lines around his mouth more prominent.

“Alright.”

Victor gets up and puts several bills on the table, pinning them down with a salt shaker. He hands Yuuri's coat to him first before slipping into his own. They walk out in silence and drive back in silence yet it doesn't stir anything in Yuuri. It matters little; he saw what he feared to acknowledge and everything else holds little weight to him.

“Yuuri,” Victor starts, shutting the apartment door and turning the lock.

“Don't,” Yuuri cuts him short. He takes his shoes and coat off and marches to the living room. Makkachin jumps around him, trying to get his attention, yapping and whining. Yuuri pets his head absentmindedly as he lowers himself on the sofa, phone in hand. Victor follows him and Makkachin runs to him, dancing on his hind legs.

“Yuuri, what are you upset about?”

“I think we have both made things pretty clear.”

“Maybe you did, but I still don't understand.” Victor props his chin on Yuuri's shoulder, looking over at his cell. “It's not like I can read your mind, so you just have to tell me. What are you doing? Is that...?”

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees tiredly, punching in his name to confirm the booking.

“You can't just buy the ticket back home without letting me know!”

“Oh? Why? Because that's exactly what you did to me?”

“Yuuri!”

“Yes, Victor?”

“I've got _you_ a ticket too!”

“Fine. If for some reason you need a ticket after the season ends, let me know and I'll get you one.”

“Can we just talk about this?” Victor sounds genuinely bewildered, the panic in his voice nearly palpable. Yuuri pushes his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He knows it's a low blow and he feels bad for doing it, but he needs to put an end to it before he gets any more hurt. He no longer can keep fooling himself that everything is just fine or would be fine, stretching out the misery.

“Victor, I am getting a ticket to Japan. There, we've talked about this.”

Victor snatches Yuuri's phone and takes a step back from the couch, holding it in his outstretched arm.

“You cannot be serious! Give it back.”

“No.”

“Please,” Yuuri grunts but his request is denied with a quick shake of a head.

He shifts to stand up on the couch – he definitely isn't going to be jumping to reach the damn phone – but Victor steps back further.

“Fine.” Yuuri turns away in attempt to get out of the room. Victor grabs his wrist, preventing him from making another step. He throws the phone onto the sofa and curls his fingers around Yuuri's chin, pushing it up.

“Look at me.”

“Let go.” Yuuri tries to wiggle away but Victor's grip is surprisingly strong. He avoids looking up and grunts his request with more force. “Let me go.”

“No.” Victor repeats, when Yuuri meets his eyes.

“What?”

“I said I won't.” Despite that, Victor releases his hand. The grip on Yuuri's face remains, forcing him to meet the cold blue of Victor's eyes. “We will talk about what happened yesterday whether you like it or not.”

“Well, how did _you_ like it?” Yuuri hisses. Victor winces.

“I didn't. What I thought of as the happiest moment of my life turned out to me actually being a rapist.”

Yuuri freezes.

“I-it's not like that...”

“Yeah? What is it called then? The man I was... I was making love to ended up in tears and sobbing for half of the night. Was I supposed to get off to that? Why didn't you tell me to stop if you hated it so much?”

“I didn't want to ruin it for you!”

“Oh god. So you respect me that little to think I need scraps of your forced affection?”

“What?” Yuuri chokes with indignation. He smacks Victor's arm, getting it off himself and taking a step forward. “I gave up everything for you.” He jabs Victor's chest with his finger, driving the point through. “My friends, my family... Do you know what it feels like to be dependent on one person? I can't even talk to anyone here!”

“I never asked you to give that up!”

“Oh yeah. You just abandoned me in Hasetsu and flew away.”

“I gave you time to think. I didn't wanna pressure you for that very reason. I wanted you to make a conscious choice.” Victor leans forwards, his features hard but not twisted in anger as Yuuri expected him to be. He doesn't raise his voice to make himself heard, but he sounds tense, as if he was holding back on breaking into shouting. His nostrils flare as his breathing becomes quickened, the only sign of him being agitated. “Did you spare any time imagining what it would be like in a stranger country? I know how it feels. I've spent so much time away from home and it was hard, despite me having few attachments here. But you... you had a lot more to give up. But did you even care to evaluate that?”

“Well maybe I just followed my heart!”

“And every damn day I tried to make it worth for you! I'm not perfect, Yuuri. But I'm doing my best to be caring and considerate and most attentive. I want to make up for what you left behind. I do not ask for eternal gratitude, but neither do I require humiliation by those... sacrifices from you out of pity!”

“Attentive?” Yuuri squeals. “Attentive how? By being ashamed of me in public?”

“What are you talking about?”

“And the interview. You went as far as to say your heart was free because admitting you were with someone like me is beyond the great Victor Nikiforov?”

“I never said that. How?.. Why would you even get that idea?”

“Did you think I'd never find out? Georgiy told me.”

“Ah.” Victor straightens up, relaxing a little as his shoulders droop down. “I said my heart was free for any woman to win. Surely, you know that's not going to happen.”

“Ugh.” Yuuri pauses, his mind racing. “Why play with words?”

“Okay, I admit it may have been a bad choice of words but I found it clever at the time. It didn't occur to me you'd have so little faith in me to take that statement the wrong way. Certainly by now you'd have figured out I'd not be interested in a woman.”

“You could... you could just say we were together.” Some of the tension leaves Yuuri. It's odd to have the things he worried about so much being resolved so easily. He feels stupid for not bringing it up earlier. He could have avoided the previous night and the hours of misinterpreting Victor's words. Granted, the rest of people took them the same way he did, yet by bringing it up Yuuri could have had it resolved so much sooner.

“No.”

“W-what no?”

“No I couldn't.”

“So... we are not together?”

“Stop it.” Now Victor sounds mad but he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Yuuri wonders what it takes for the man to lose his composure. If that's even possible. “I didn't say it because I didn't want to go down in history as that gay celebrity. This may very well be my last year in skating and I want to be known for _me_. And not for whom I date.”

“Your career again,” Yuuri says, more bitterly than intended.

“Yes. Quit pretending like it wasn't my career that got you interested in me in the first place. That's what you saw and that's what you loved before you even knew me. And yours is equally important to you.”

“Isn't it a bit too late to regret being known as that gay celebrity?”

Victor blinks. He smooths his hair back, rubbing his neck tiredly.

“How so?”

“Come on. You kissed me on live TV in China.”

Victor frowns.

“Don't tell me you're not aware of it never going public.”

“What?”

“I was impulsive, yes. But it never aired. Not in China. Not in here. You know live stream allows for several minutes and adjustments to be made.” He must look utterly bewildered for Victor to add. “It was cut. You can check it for yourself, but I assure you won't find any traces of it online.”

“But there were witnesses. Hundreds of people.”

“Who saw what exactly? Me crushing you in a hug and us promptly falling onto the ice? Scandalous.”

“Victor...”

“You don't understand, Yuuri. You cannot be gay in Russia and remain respected. Less be a national champion. A person like that isn't allowed to openly bed men.”

“You are saying that... that nobody knows?”

“Oh I'm sure they do.” Victor chuckles, but the laughter comes out sad. “Yakov is aware. And pretty much everyone close to me suspects. Chris definitely knows. But I trust them to keep it secret and not flash it out in an interview to get some cheap buzz. Have you ever read any gossip in that regard?”

“But then...” Yuuri pauses. The notion of Victor intentionally hiding his private life in order to preserve his career is too wild to process.

“Then what? They know and they keep quiet because they are the closest thing to a family I have. I have no problem opening up to them as long as the general public isn't informed.”

“So I'm your closeted gay secret?”

“Cynical doesn't become you.” Victor scowls. He puts his hands on Yuuri's shoulders, slowly sliding his palms down Yuuri's arms. “You know you are a lot more than that.” He intertwines his fingers with Yuuri's, raising his hand to his face and nuzzling Yuuri's palm. “Please don't put yourself down. Even when I explain such obvious things to you.”

“Obvious, sure.” Yuuri slides his hand down and curls his arm around Victor's neck, allowing himself to be pulled into Victor's embrace. “But your Instagram...”

“Yes?”

“There is a picture of us hugging. And you're naked in it.”

“I'm half-naked in the majority of the pictures. That's what gets the views.”

“But...”

“Gosh, Yuuri,” Victor chides, running his hands down Yuuri's back. “People are ready to write it off as me being eccentric or drunk out of my mind or goofy. Any excuse not to face the truth. I can be anything but gay.”

“Are you certain you'd never be accepted?” Yuuri asks, hiding his face in the crook of Victor's shoulder. His glasses dig into his face but he doesn't want to break apart to remove them.

“Yes. I gave you time to think if you'd be fine with it too. And come to whichever conclusion you would before you arrived here.”

“Why do you want me then?”

“Really, now,” Victor murmurs. He rubs his cheek against Yuuri's, nudging him with his nose until Yuuri turns his head. Victor's dry lips brush the corner of his mouth but he pauses, warming Yuuri's skin with his breath. Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his grip around Victor, holding onto his shoulders. He feels goosebumps prickle down his neck and arms at the anticipation. Yuuri carefully parts his lips, pushing them against Victor's. They freeze in the moment, sharing the same air and somehow it is more intimate than a kiss could get.

Yuuri breaks it first, moving his mouth against Victor's unhurriedly. He captures Victor's bottom lip between his, the sweet touch making his stomach flutter. It's warm and familiar and addicting. Yuuri didn't realize how much he missed it, being able to dissolve in a kiss just to enjoy the sensation, doubt-free and without any motive or purpose. He positively melts when Victor's arms pull him up and cradle him closer to the man, while his lips remain just as soft and gentle. Victor is able to communicate though a kiss what no words could ever do, erasing the silly worries and doubts. Yuuri feels loved and wanted, and his his heart seems to swell in his chest in response. He keens when he pulls away, the sense of loss sharp.

“Victor... Why don't you just leave?” Yuuri treads his fingers through the man's soft hair just for the pleasure of having it slide between them.

“Because it's my home,” he replies simply. “Good or bad, I never got that feeling of belonging anywhere else.”

“And if I ask...” Yuuri stops himself, lacking the courage to voice the request.

“Maybe,” Victor hums against his temple. “Possibly.”

“Would that break your heart if you moved?”

Victor chuckles.

“I wouldn't know, you tell me. My heart no longer belongs to me. Hasn't for some time, in fact.”

Yuuri knits his brows together, trying to figure out what it meant.

“Oh.” He hides his face against Victor's chest, his cheeks heating up.

“'Oh', indeed.”


	10. Hesitant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betaed.

For once, Yuuri opens his eyes before Victor. He's awakened by the numbness in his left arm, which feels detached from his body. Yuuri tries to wiggle his fingers without disturbing Victor, who is sprawled on his arm, the pillow ignored. The man stirs and frowns in his sleep when Yuuri begins to pump his fist.

Yuuri squints to see him better and his chest swells with emotion. It's not that Victor's sleeping face looks any different, although the slightly parted lips give his expression a certain vulnerability. Knowing that only he gets to see Victor relaxed and defenseless fills Yuuri with gentle pride.

He sighs, turning onto his left side to face the man. There is a warning growl coming from the foot of the bed as Makkachin is awakened by his movement. Yuuri throws his right leg around Victor, pulling him in a tighter embrace. Victor's breath tickles his neck and Yuuri lets out an involuntary giggle, squirming to get a bit higher on the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Victor mumbles, curling his arm around Yuuri's lower back to slide him closer.

"Away.”

“Why-y?”

“To preserve your modesty and refrain from molesting you in your sleep."

"Ooh. Didn't know you were into that sort of thing. Alright. Let's pretend I'm asleep."

"Won't work. I'm a method actor, you see."

"Hmph. Well, then."

Victor moves to press his lips to the base of Yuuri's throat. He nuzzles against his skin, the softness of his lips not making up for the prickle of his face.

"Victor! Scratchy!"

Victor rolls onto his back, rubbing his chin.

"Rejected over a little body hair. How cruel."

"Oh hush. Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit?"

"In no way."

"Can I have my arm back then?"

"Definitely not. I demand my ransom."

"And what would that be?"

Victor curls his lips into a sly smile.

"How badly do you want your arm back?"

In some way Yuuri thinks there's comfort in pretending that nothing happened. He still feels sore but he knows that's more of his fault than Victor's. Victor still being able to joke around with him no longer makes him feel pressured. It's his choice to follow through or to call quits, Victor probably being fine with either. Or at least being accepting enough without the threat of an immediate break up.

Yuuri props himself on his elbow, shifting to loom over him. He cups the man's cheek, stroking his thumb over the stubble. Aware of his morning breath, Yuuri presses light kisses over the man's brow and cheeks, purposefully avoiding his mouth.

"Mmm. Ransom accepted. Now, for the compensation over my previous rejection..."

"Victor," Yuuri laughs, but he's yanked down.

Victor doesn't hesitate to slide his lips along Yuuri's, careful yet suggestive. He leaves it up to Yuuri to make the final step and accept the kiss. Yuuri's body responds before his mind. It's Victor in his arms - warm, relaxed weight of him making Yuuri feel so safe, unreachable by the rest of the world in their cocoon of blankets - and if Victor wants to kiss him, he can endure a little discomfort of unbrushed teeth. It's not as bad as he dreaded. There is a little sourness but Yuuri forgets about it as soon as Victor moans into his mouth.

Victor is kissing him with a sense of abandon, hungry yet still tender, trying to draw out the moment. He cranes his neck when Yuuri pulls away for air, grunting when their lips meet again. Their noses bump when they both turn their heads to get a better angle and Victor snickers without breaking away.

Yuuri nibbles on his bottom lip in revenge and Victor trembles - actually trembles from this - clinging to him harder. Yuuri's stomach flutters. He feels powerful, almost dizzy with his ability to wind the man up so effortlessly. He ignores a whine from Makkachin who doesn't appear to be too happy to be pushed when Yuuri rolls over, pinning Victor under himself. He rolls his tongue in a way that makes Victor moan again and again, adding a hint of teeth to elicit more of those needy sounds. Yuuri lets his hand roam down Victor's side, his thumb sliding along each defined dimple and crevice, getting re-acquainted with his glorious body, exploring, memorizing, enjoying. His nails scrape against the elastic of Victor's underwear. He thinks sneaking his hand inside would be moving too forward, although the idea of touching Victor right _there_ for the first time causes a rush of heat to trickle down his spine. Perhaps, he needs to gather a little more courage.

Yuuri's palm slides over to his lower back, squeezing between Victor's body and the mattress. Yuuri holds it still for a moment, only his fingertips stroking the impossibly soft skin. He sighs into the kiss, still in awe that something as simple as a kiss can make him feel so warm and tingly and _whole_. It's perfect and he wants to tell Victor just that, yet he chooses to use his lips and teeth and tongue to convey how he feels instead of opting for words. Yuuri moves his hand to cup Victor's butt cheek, instinctively kneading the firm muscle.

"Wait."

The hands that were pulling him closer a moment ago are now pressed against Yuuri's chest, lightly pushing him off.

"Ah! Sorry! Was I not supposed to?.. "

Yuuri jerks his hand away from Victor's ass, propping himself higher up and off the man. He should have asked first, but it's hard to juggle his thoughts, actions and words with someone writhing under you in a kiss.

"No, it's just... I have a busy day today and I don't..." Victor turns his head to the side, avoiding looking at Yuuri.

"Your schedule today is the same as tomorrow and last week. You're _always_ going to be busy." Yuuri chews his lip. "Are you saying that... You won't have time for me?"

"Oh god, no! How would you even draw that conclusion?"

"Then I don't understand." Yuuri frowns. Victor finally looks at him, running his hand through his hair to comb it back. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just don't think we should do this."

"You don't want me anymore?"

Victor groans, pinching Yuuri's lips together with his fingers and releasing them with a sigh.

"Nonsense. What I meant was that... I think we shouldn't be doing it so soon."

"Because of the last time?"

"Precisely."

"Oh. Well. But I'm fine, really. And I know... there are other ways..." Yuuri feels his ears starting to burn. "We could try... I mean, I don't know for sure, but I think..."

Victor catches his wrist before Yuuri's hand could slide low enough to demonstrate those other ways he theorized about but never got to try. He presses a quick kiss to his fingers, putting both of their hands on top of the blanket.

"I'm certain there are. And I'd be delighted to explore them with you. But it'd be too cruel to do so at the expense of Makka's bladder."

"Wow, Victor, you're such a romantic." Yuuri gets a light nudge in the ribs for teasing, but Victor rolls out of bed smiling. "Hey, your alarm didn't even go off!" he calls, but Victor is already at the door with Makkachin jogging after him.

"Uh. And what am I supposed to do now?" Yuuri complains to himself. He flops onto his back, adjusting himself in his pajama pants. He gives himself another squeeze, but the mood is gone. Yuuri presses his fingers to his lids, sighs and gets up, following the humming of the coffee machine in the kitchen.

Victor meets him in the hall, exiting the bathroom. He gives Yuuri a cheeky grin and Yuuri pulls the hem of his shirt down over his still quite visible bulge.

"You're adorable," Victor teases, leaving to peck Yuuri on the cheek. His breath is minty and his lips leave a cool imprint on Yuuri's skin. Yuuri wiggles away when Victor intends to continue with kissing.

"And you must be a pervert. Brushing your teeth before coffee."

"Makes it taste better."

"Nuh huh."

"Wanna try?"

"I'll let that remain a rumor."

Victor huffs as Yuuri squeezes past him into the bathroom. When he walks into the kitchen, Victor is sipping his coffee. The man pushes the identical mug towards Yuuri.

"Thanks." Yuuri climbs onto the bar stool, pressing the back of his palm to his mouth to hide a yawn. He gives his coffee a taste, surprised to find that Victor added sugar to it, despite always scolding him over unnecessary calories. He's either planning a serious workout or tries to be nicer to him after their argument, proving his words about going an extra mile to make Yuuri feel at home. Regardless, Yuuri appreciates the move.

"If I remember correctly, Makka's bladder seemed to be your priority this morning." The dog thumps his tail in response to Yuuri's words and he bends down to scratch his head. "Yet you are delaying his relief by sitting here."

"What good is it if I take him out half-asleep and bump into a tree?"

"Are you sure coffee would remedy that?"

"Whoa, somebody is in a mood today."

"Sorry. I must be cranky cause I got up earlier than usual."

"Oh yeah. You are definitely... up."

"Victor! Was that necessary?"

"I'm paying my respects. I'd hate for such a prominent thing to go unacknowledged."

Yuuri grunts.

"You realize how confusing it is to hear you say that?"

"Why?"

Yuuri sets the cup on the table. He bites his lip, hesitating if he should say anything at all. He buys himself some time aligning the handle of the cup to his right.

"Because you darted out of bed this morning. And yet you continue joking like you actually... I don't know."

"Hey. I said it wasn't because you did something wrong. And that's still true. I just don't want to rush into anything. Again."

"Yeah. Sure. Are you giving me "it's not you, it's me" speech?"

Victor chuckles, reaching out to him. The squeeze of his hand is warm and reassuring. Yuuri turns his hand palm up, shivering when Victor's fingertips tickle his wrist.

"But it is. I feel I'd better lay it out instead of leaving room for interpretation. I don't want any more weird guesses and misunderstandings."

"Don't you think that's a way too deep of a subject for a morning coffee?"

"Perhaps. Sorry about that. I agree, a lengthy discussion wouldn't be good for poor Makka. Let me make it up to you and buy dinner."

"How about I cook something?"

"Deal. Should I help with the grocery shopping?"

"Nah. I'll manage. If it comes to an emergency, I can always point."

Victor finishes his coffee and leaves promptly, giving Yuuri time to take a long shower. It's still hours before his training and since he cannot come with Victor to his practice, he has absolutely nothing to do till then. He bumps into Victor once again on his way out of the bathroom. Victor is carrying Makka, holding the dog in his stretched arms to avoid getting himself wet with the mud splattered over his paws and belly.

"Is it raining?" Yuuri asks, stepping aside to make way.

"Was in the night. I reacted too late to prevent that disaster. Makka plopped right into a puddle."

Victor places the dog into the tub. Yuuri rushes to turn the shower on, aiming the stream aside to allow Victor to wash his hands. He hoped it would be possible to wash just Makkachin's legs and the patch of stained fur, but the dog is restless and gets drenched before long. Victor joins Yuuri after removing his coat and they quickly manage to wash him and pat the fur somewhat dry.

“Are you sure you don't want me to take you grocery shopping?” Victor asks, pulling Makka out of the tub and setting him on the floor. “I do have time before practice.”

“Alright. Let me get dressed then.”

It takes them about a quarter of an hour to get to the store and Yuuri has to agree he wouldn't be able to find it himself. He doesn't admit it out loud, but he feels better having Victor guide him.

“So, is there anything you would like me to cook?”

“Whichever you prefer.” Victor shrugs and selects a shopping cart to push around. It leaves Yuuri empty-handed and he just follows him awkwardly. “I'm easy to please.”

“Sure.”

“Do I hear a hint of doubts at my words?”

There are not many people around so early in the morning and he doesn't bother keeping his voice down. Yuuri wonders if that's the reason Victor is still behaving the same as he would if they were alone or whether he's trying not to be distant for Yuuri's sake.

“I'll see if your statement still holds once I start skating.”

“Don't worry. Watching you perform is more than pleasing.”

“Oh... Um...” Yuuri twists his index finger, looking for a way to switch to another subject. Forcing Victor to compliment him is the last thing he wants to achieve. “Do you want to have some shepherd's pie?”

“What's that?” Victor doesn't seem to be disturbed by the clumsy change of topic and Yuuri relaxes a little.

“Mashed potatoes over ground beef. Baked in the oven. Very British.”

“No katsudon?”

“I'm afraid you wouldn't want to touch mine after sampling my mom's.”

“I'm sure you're being too modest. I've told you, I'm fine with anything.”

Yuuri slowly walks around the store, picking up the ingredients and dropping them into a cart. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to read the labels – some of them have English brand names and pictures, making it easy to guess what they are, while others are written in Cyrillic, having Yuuri question how someone would use those cans and bags of spice. He doesn't want to ask Victor for help after declaring he was capable of going shopping alone. Victor doesn't comment and follows him obediently and it's Yuuri who has to check the time on his phone several times to make sure Victor isn't late for his practice.

“I'll get it,” Yuuri says when the cashier is done scanning the items and Yuuri has packed them all. Victor, however, pays him no mind and handles the girl a stack of brightly colored banknotes.

“Don't worry about it.”

“You're not helping the rumors.”

“Hm? What would they be?”

“About me being a... a gigolo.”

“What?” Victor bat's his eyes stopping dead in his track. They've walked almost all the way back to Victor's car but the man freezes in place, holding the keys in his hand. “Yuuri. You've got to stop putting yourself down. I thought we reached an agreement yesterday, no? Besides, you said you were going to cook. I'm sure it's a fair deal. Especially since you haven't changed any money yet.”

“I could have used a card.”

“Does it really bother you?” Victor gives him a side-eyed glance as he starts walking again. “Or is it because you believe it should because of what someone might think about it?”

“You do care what others think and say about you, don't you?” Yuuri mumbles. Victor sighs, putting the grocery bags away and closing the trunk.

“Touche. You called me out.”

Victor gets in the driver's seat. Yuuri climbs into the car. He puts his hand over Victor's arm as the man starts the engine, but he doesn't dare to keep it there.

“Victor, I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me.” Victor's jaw relaxes a little, but he doesn't smile like he normally would. “I appreciate the things you do. Really. I just... I don't know why I'm so bitter. You don't... you don't deserve me to go around complaining about every time you show you care.”

“I'm sure I deserve whatever you give me.”

“Did I upset you?”

“Even if I were upset, I'd never be able to stay mad at you for long.”

“Now that's outright flattery.”

“Want to test that?” Victor teases. His tone goes back to serious, but he keeps his eyes on the road. “I understand it will take us time to adjust to each other. So yeah, small disagreements over things like that may happen.”

“Adjust? We've spent the last year living together.”

“Ah. But not like this.”

Yuuri presses his lips together. There's some truth to Victor's words, but he still feels like it's not that different. Sure, they may have been changing hotels and cities and there were a lot more people around them, but they did live together. With the exception of sharing the same bed. Which didn't seem that unnatural for them to do even on the first night Yuuri came over.

“Will you be okay carrying those up by yourself?” Victor asks, parking next to his apartment building. “I don't want to be skinned for being late.”

“I'll be fine.”

“I'll pick you up later, okay?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri pauses for a second. He wants to lean over to give Victor a kiss but he know he shouldn't.

“See you then.” Victor sounds almost apologetic, as if he could read Yuuri's mind. He gets out of the car to help with the bags. “Should have given you these earlier.” Victor pulls a spare set of keys out of his pocket, dropping them into Yuuri's palm. He doesn't touch Yuuri's hand, which would probably hurt Yuuri a lot more if he didn't understand the reason behind this behavior.

“Thank you.”

Victor winks at him and it works; Yuuri is able to smile at him, his chest feeling less tight as he watches the car drive away.

Yuuri goes around the day with a taint of guilt souring his mood a little. He shouldn't been so harsh earlier, accusing Victor over the silliest things only because he still feels insecure. It's not that he has anything to worry about. Other than Victor shying away from him this morning. It's always been the other way around with Yuuri holding back on frisky stuff and this almost-rejection still affects him. Yuuri knows that Victor's probably doing it for his own sake. Perhaps, he just needs to communicate his desire to be open to that aspect of their relationship more clearly.

Yuuri smiles to himself when he envisions how he could do that. It does help him get through the day, even his practice going smoother than he imagined. He can feel Yakov's eyes on him and he knows Mila is watching too, but isn't it always going to be like that? He chose sports where his every move is going to be evaluated and judged, so he has to accept it. Yuuri's knee protests, throbbing and making his legs wobble when he puts his weight on it. There ache in his lower back is ever present and it limits his movements, so he doesn't attempt anything complex, hoping Victor doesn't instruct him to do that. His simplest jumps are sloppier than usual because of it, but Victor still calls them good. Yuuri tries not to doubt him, even if Yakov snickers at the words, loud enough to be heard across the rink. Surely Victor wouldn't lie to him for the sake of saving his pride, yet even so Yuuri is grateful for his kindness.

“So, you haven't changed your mind about cooking?” Victor inquires when Yuuri leaves the shower, offering him a dry towel for his hair. “We could grab something quick to eat.”

“No way. I'm the man of my word.”

Victor hums, neither confirming nor challenging his words. He throws the towel over Yuuri's head, drying his hair up. He is close enough for Yuuri to feel the heat of his body and Yuuri resists the instinct to lean against him. Victor stops as abruptly as he started. Yuuri hears him step away and he fumbles with the towel, pulling it off and draping it around his neck.

“Hi, Yurio.” He gives the boy a smile while Victor looks less pleased.

“So first you tie his laces and now dry his hair? And there I thought _you_ were the one behaving like a baby. What comes next? Wiping his ass?”

“I'm mildly alarmed at how often butts pop up in your speech,” Victor notes casually, keeping his tone light as if to annoy Yurio further.

“How's your grandfather?” Yuuri asks, hoping that the change of subject will reduce the tension. He doesn't like the banter and the way those two glare at each other.

“Still at the hospital.”

Yurio walks over to drop his backpack onto the bench. He bumps into Victor on his way, shoving him with his shoulder. Yuuri flinches.

“But he's doing better, right?” He offers cheerfully as Yurio sits down and steps on the heels of his shoes, kicking them off before he gets to lacing his skates.

“Yeah.”

“That's good.”

Yurio doesn't acknowledge his response. He jerks his head, flipping his hair back from his face and frowns, tugging the laces. Yuuri feels like he should add something else but he can't chose anything that wouldn't sound awkward since the boy appears in no mood to talk. He looks at Victor standing with his arms crossed and pointedly facing away. No help there either.

“Um... Good luck with your practice.”

“I don't rely on luck,” Yurio grumbles through his teeth.

Yuuri gives up. He blow dries his hair quickly and rushes to leave, finding the air and the mood in the locker room to be suffocating. He relaxes a little when they get in the car. Victor seems to get back into high spirits, humming off-tune as he drives.

“What can I do to assist?” he coos, helping Yuuri out of his coat back in their apartment. Makkachin dances around, turning his head left and right, torn as to whom he should greet first. “The rare chance you get to order me around.”

“You seem to be quite eager. You can wash your hands. And peel the potatoes.”

“Yes, chef.” Victor salutes him and Yuuri rolls his eyes.

Soon after, the pot with the potatoes is bubbling and the sliced vegetables are sizzling in the pan.

“Do you want to walk Makka before or after dinner?” Yuuri asks, poking a fork through a potato slice to check if it's cooked. He adds the ground beef to the pan, adding a pinch of salt.

“Probably should go before. This smells too good. I'll probably indulge myself with a second helping and won't be able to walk afterwards.”

Yuuri tries not to give away his excitement. It aligns with his plan perfectly, but he keeps his lips pressed tight to contain his grin.

"It should be ready in half an hour or so," he announces.

Yuuri locks the door behind Victor and darts into the bathroom. He uses hair gel to slick his hair back, similar to how he'd wear it for his performance. His hair got significantly longer and he can almost style the bangs like Victor's if he really tried. Yuuri fumbles with it some more, sticking to the original plan in the end.

He returns to the kitchen, turning the burners off. He quickly mashes the potatoes and leaves them cool for a bit. Now, for his attire. Yuuri isn't quite comfortable with the idea but he thinks Victor would absolutely love it. He picks a pair of Victor's skimpiest undies from the drawer. The black fabric in the back is scarce, nearly turning the pair into thongs yet providing the coverage. Yuuri knows it from seeing Victor flaunt those more than once. He would never chose something like that for himself, but if everything goes as planned, he might revise his underwear preferences.

Yuuri scrutinises himself in the mirror, turning sideways to catch a glimpse of his backside. He doesn't look bad, although the front is cut too low for his taste. He may... pop out if he moves too swiftly. Yuuri shrugs, up for taking the chance.

Being clad in just a strip of fabric is daring, perhaps a bit too daring for his comfort. Not to mention it's impracticable and plain dangerous in the kitchen. Yuuri picks up an apron, hidden behind the door. Victor definitely didn't wear it, in fact it's so crisp and white it has to be new. He drapes it around himself, carefully tying it behind his back in a hope the bow will come out neatly. It occurs to Yuuri that Victor's cleaning lady - her name was Martha, wasn't it - could have put it on before. He scowls and hopes that's not the case.

With preparations done, Yuuri can unhurriedly finish cooking. He transfers the pie into a different pan, layering meat and vegetables before smoothing the mashed potatoes on top. He hears the key scraping the lock and grins, quickly discarding his glasses.

"Be right there, I just need to wipe Makka's paws," Victor shouts from the hall.

Perfect. Yuuri turns the oven on, pulling the door open. He bends to put the pan in it when he hears Victor's steps. The sound of Victor's feet stops abruptly when Yuuri reaches even lower, keeping his legs straight to ensure he's displaying himself from the most flattering angle. He can swear there is a faint gasp coming from the door.

The brief silence is broken by the clatter of feet on the floor. Yuuri yelps at the feel of a slobbery tongue connecting with his butt cheek. He jerks, hitting his elbow on the sharp edge of the counter top and knocking the other pan - hot but luckily empty - onto the floor. Makka barks, not losing an ounce of his enthusiasm and determination to cover Yuuri's legs and sides with his wet kisses.

Victor rushes over, grabbing the dog's collar and dragging him away. He closes the kitchen door, leaning against it. His shoulders are trembling.

"Victor?" Yuuri calls, a bit worried, as the man clasps his hand over his mouth, choking out a weird sound. Victor slowly turns to him. His blue eyes look wet and it Yuuri feels even more puzzled. "Are you crying?"

Victor's shaking gets even worse. He snorts. And again. Until his giggles can no longer be contained and he doubles over. Victor wails and keens, his laughter coming out in rushed bursts till he wheezes.

"Alright, don't you think..."

Another fit rolls over and Victor hugs himself, rocking on his heels.

"Victor..."

Yuuri is ignored. The man is hiccupping, full blown laughter turning into snickering that won't cease. The more it goes on, the worse Yuuri feels. Sure, he must have looked funny from aside, but as the hurt begins to settle in, he cannot be amused. Yuuri feels the insides of his nose burn, a warning itch that makes his face contort and the inner corners of his eyes prickle. He didn't mean it to go that way. He couldn't even anticipate his silly attempt at seduction to end up with Victor laughing at him.

"Glad I amused you at the expense of my dignity," he mumbles. "I think I'll clean up and go to bed."

"Aw, no. I'm sorry. You put so much effort into making dinner. Please stay and share it with me."

"Not hungry." Yuuri's face scrunches up and the turns away. He blinks rapidly, willing the treacherous moisture away from his eyes.

"Yuuri," Victor starts but he snorts again. "Okay, okay, no more of that, I swear."

Yuuri quickly wipes his face, gritting his teeth as his fingers get wet.

"Hey, hey. I'm truly sorry, I shouldn't have laughed." The soothing pity in Victor's voice causes Yuuri to sob. He needs to get out of the room as soon as possible before it gets out of control even more. "Come here."

Victor tries to pull him into a hug but Yuuri shakes his head. Victor steps closer with a sigh and presses himself against Yuuri's back, his hands stroking down Yuuri's sides.

"Mm, I didn't get a good chance to appreciate your... outfit, but at least my hands can," Victor whispers. "Would you allow me?"

Yuuri shrugs. He tries to breathe through his nose, sounding an awful lot like he's sniffling. Victor huffs but doesn't laugh. His fingers on Yuuri's waist start light but soon grip him harder, thumbs pressed into the dimples in Yuuri's back. Victor rubs them in circles, his hands kneading Yuuri's sides.

"I must say that is one of the best things I've seen you in," Victor confesses, sneaking his hand behind the apron to lay his palm on Yuuri's stomach.

"Does it make up for the failure?"

"What failure?" Victor murmurs into his ear and Yuuri squirms at the feel of a pleasant sting low in his stomach. "You look great. And feel wonderful."

Victor spreads his fingers as if trying to cover all of Yuuri's skin at once. Yuuri leans back, resting his head on Victor's shoulder. He tilts his neck to the side, exposing his it in the hopes that the man will get the hint. Victor nuzzles his throat but his main focus remains on Yuuri's torso.

"May I peek?"

"Ye-yeah. You can take it off if you want."

"That is not the part of the fun."

Victor keeps one hand on Yuuri's middle while the other one pulls the top of the apron away. His chin digs into Yuuri's collarbone as Victor glances down, sighing contently.

"Nice."

"Oh? Nice, is it?"

"Splendid," Victor corrects himself. His lips ghost over Yuuri's shoulder, making him break into goosebumps. The purring voice doesn't help the clenching heat below his navel, stirring it even more until Yuuri's lower half responds with a throb. "Absolutely marvelous."

"Mm," Yuuri hums, his face feeling warm. He has no idea how to react to the praise, the choice of words making it come across as somewhat of a joke. He arches when Victor's palm slides over the fabric of the apron, down his chest, the bump Victor's left hand created underneath it and comes to rest on Yuuri's hip.

He presses himself flush against Victor, wiggling as the wool of Victor's sweater prickles his naked back. Yuuri exhales sharply, his excitement gone as suddenly as it started. He feels so silly. His muscles stiffen and he tries to step away.

"What is it?" Victor loosens his embrace but doesn't let go of him completely. "What's the matter?"

"You - uh... You..." Victor waits for him to be finish the sentence and it makes Yuuri struggle with his words more. "You don't... want this." His voice goes up at the end, making it sound like a question despite Yuuri having all the evidence supporting his statement.

"That is a wild guess. Of course I want it. Why else would I be doing anything?"

"But..." Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek, still uncomfortable saying it out loud. "You do not want me... Here." He reaches back, laying his hand over Victor's crotch. Where Yuuri was already hard, Victor maintains a soft slope of a bulge, free from any signs of arousal.

"Ah. That's what you're about." Victor cradles him again, pressing flush against Yuuri. "I just need time."

Yuuri thinks it's a poor excuse. Victor didn't need any time before, so that isn't the problem.

"I'm nervous," Victor adds like he could hear what's going through Yuuri's mind. "I don't think you are ready."

"Victor. You take your coaching job too serious, really. I'm capable of knowing whether I'm ready - at least in... in this - and I assure you that I am."

"Alright. Maybe I'm not ready."

"You've said it this morning but I still don't understand. Why... What's holding you back?"

"The fear of ruining it all?"

"You are never afraid of anything."

"Now that's an over exaggeration if I ever hear one," Victor chuckles. "I'm worried that you won't like me touching you. And that..."

"I like it." Yuuri turns around to look Victor in the face, to see if what he's saying is true. "I do like it," he repeats more heatedly. "In fact, I'd definitely wouldn't mind more touching."

Yuuri locks his hands behind Victor's neck, using them to coax Victor closer for a kiss. He doesn't allow the man to hesitate. It never occurred to him that Victor could doubt himself or be too concerned about making a wrong move.

Victor's hands tighten around him, fingertips massaging his skin.

"How's that?" Victor demands, a little breathless.

"Stop asking for feedback and kiss me again."

"Cheeky," Victor coos, this time not allowing the kiss to last. "Greedy," he whispers, stealing another quick kiss. Yuuri captures his bottom lip between his teeth and the man grunts. "Perfect."

Victor's hands roam Yuuri's back with a lot more ease. Yuuri finds the strokes to be quite tame perhaps because he doesn't imagine them to be tainted by the urgency of a corresponding arousal. He tries to contain his and not grind against Victor too much, although he finds plenty of encouragement. Each time his body thrusts and presses forward, elicits a muffled grunt of approval from the man. Yuuri feels helpless against the aching heat spreading through his frame as if the pleasure points in his lips were directly connected to his groin by an invisible string. If they keep it up, soon the insistent warm tugs of pent up excitement will turn him desperate for more, despite his intentions not to chase his own enjoyment. It's almost like Victor is making him feverish, having him warm all over, restlessly shaking and moaning, oblivious to anything but what's currently happening to him. The flash of the last thought causes Yuuri to jump.

"Oh God," Yuuri rasps, jerking his head back.

"Mm, flattered."

"No, Victor, the stove!" Yuuri's fingers blindly fidget over the knobs. He gives up, wiggling away to find the one for the stove and turn it off. "That could have been a disaster," he let's out with a nervous chuckle.

"Yes, yes, but I'd rather continue. I have to prove myself now, though I never knew I had such a serious rival."

"Uh, what?"

"The stove. I'm jealous it could make you gasp and praise the Lord."

"Pfft, Victor, you are..." Yuuri shakes his head. There's hardly a word to describe him - simple ones like mad or endearing or over the top eccentric in his compliments - wouldn't even scrape the surface of him.

"Aren't you hungry though?"

"Indeed. Famished," Victor says coyly, giving him a wolfish grin. Yuuri groans, refusing to believe the man went down this cliché trope.

"Too cheesy?" Victor looks at him apologetically with the smirk still lingering on his lips.

"Yeah."

"Oh hush. You cannot critique a man who's already enjoying his dinner."

"Victor, you're making it only worse."

"You don't like my puns? They're trademark."

"Why does witty Vitya show up only in raunchy situations?"

"Well... because he wants to. Now, let me compensate for all that talking."

Yuuri squeals when he's picked up and placed on the counter top.

"Ah! Cold. Cold!" He squirms and raises up, trying to minimize the contact with the chilly surface. "I don't think those are meant for sitting," Yuuri notes, his skin breaking into goosebumps. Victor steps between his legs, cocking his head to the side. Yuuri looks down on him, which is an unusual thing but not unpleasantly so.

"What exactly? The kitchen furniture or my underwear?"

"Victor," Yuuri chuckles. He indulges himself with another kiss, slower and more planned out. Victor has to rise up on his toes to reach him better, placing both of his hands on the counter top on both sides of Yuuri's hips.

"Should I claim them back?"

"Mm perhaps," Yuuri licks his lips, more of an instinctive movement than anything else. Yet Victor seems unable to look away and Yuuri does it again purposefully, quite through this time. He feels a little ridiculous for such a vulgar move, however he cares less about it at a surge of heat curling inside of him as Victor swiftly pushes himself up for another kiss.

"So, may I?" Victor asks, his face flushed and his lips getting swollen. Yuuri isn't certain what he's asking for, but he hooks his legs around the man and digs his heels into his butt cheeks, pulling him closer.

"You don't need to ask for my permission for every little step, you know?"

"Yeah, well..." Yuuri senses the bitterness in his words and it does make him feel guilty.

"I'm not... Unwilling. And I don't mind being, say, unaware of your next move. Anticipating. You've always liked to surprise the crowd." Seeing Victor hesitate not because of his own doubts but merely caring about how his advances will be accepted makes Yuuri bolder. Having that kind of power is new and perhaps more thrilling than he'd care to admit, but he would easily give it up in the sake of mutual understanding. "There is no crowd, unfortunately," he teases, moving his hands around Victor's shoulders, "but I'd expect no less of you."

"I must be doing something wrong if you can still deliver such a passionate speech. Do you plan to take my coaching job from me, hmm?"

"I learnt from the best. You are good with your tongue." Victor's cheeks turn darker pink. "Why, has no one told you that?"

"You say it so... innocently," Victor shakes his head, as if he didn't quite believe that statement to be true. "Besides, it's not like you speak from experience."

"What do you m-mean, not from my experience?" Victor's hand slips beneath the apron, finding Yuuri's thigh and getting quite busy stroking it. Not so much of an up and down movement as sneaking sideways, to the softer inner side. The careful tickling touches are quite a distraction, preventing Yuuri from keeping his mind on what he intended to say. "You've always cheered me up and delivered the most inspiring... Oh," Yuuri interrupts himself and Victor's grin suggests his words were interpreted in a different way. "O-oh. Hey! I didn't - I didn't mean to say _that_!"

"Taking the compliment back so promptly? I'm wounded."

Yuuri gasps, the sound turning into a frustrated moan. It has little to do with what Victor is saying. His palm brushes against Yuuri's erection, covering it for a moment to allow the heat of his hand caress it before withdrawing. Yuuri is left even harder, straining against the fabric. He wiggles and the head of his cock pushes onto the elastic of his (Victor's, really) underwear.

"Don't tease me," Yuuri pleads, clasping his hand over Victor's arm.

"As you wish."

Yuuri's mouth falls open as Victor's hand promptly curls around his length. The touch through the fabric is enough to have his blood rush down. His stomach contracts as if he were punched and it's difficult to draw in a breath. Yuuri shudders as his hand feels him up and down, applying the most delicious pressure. He shifts to hold onto Victor, squeezing his shoulders as if he might fall should he let go for a moment.

"Too much?" Victor asks, his movements becoming more tentative.

Yuuri shakes his head vigorously, panting and struggling for words. The intensity of his body's response is no less shocking for him, but he certainly doesn't want to stop.

Victor cranes his neck, softly touching his lips to Yuuri's. The kiss is sweet and calming, a light slide of lips for the mere pleasure of it. Yuuri's response is clumsy and even though the kiss doesn't get any deeper, he lacks the wind on his lungs to keep up.

"Just breathe," Victor prompts. "I'd hate for you to suffocate. You're not having a panic attack, are you?"

Yuuri surely hopes he's not, but there's no way of knowing. This isn't something he does every day - not with Victor, at least - so he is lost as to whether this kind of reaction is normal. He pulls the man closer still, having Victor half-bent over the counter top. He gives his throat a lick, then another one, swiping his tongue from where the collar of the sweater conceals the skin and up to his jaw. Yuuri registers the moan as he continues with wet nibbles and licks, pleased he found a way to kiss where his shortness of breath wasn't an obstacle.

Victor tilts his head back, shutting his eyes and exposing his neck. His fingers resume their dance along the shaft of Yuuri's cock, leisurely stroking and exploring his shape. Yuuri writhes and attempts to thrust forward, although with little success. Still, he doesn't wish to disentangle himself from Victor.

Finally, after torturous minutes that seem to stretch for eternity, Victor pulls the underwear to the side. He has to use both hands, one on the fabric and the other one reaching inside to free Yuuri's cock. He looks down to coordinate better, the apron obscuring his manipulations. Yuuri bunches it up in his fist, connecting the two sides and raising them up. They fall back down as soon as he releases them, so he collects the apron in his hand once more and clenches it to his chest. He wants to see Victor touching him, but despite the thrill it makes his stomach flutter unpleasantly. It's not quite the shame of his position rather than reality of it. Victor being fully clothed makes Yuuri feel like he's doing something wrong. Being too selfish, perhaps. Victor's actions speak of want, but the way Yuuri has him pinned to the counter with his legs and the hem of the sweater covering the man's lower half there is no way of seeing the evidence of that.

With the underwear hooked to Yuuri's right and held in place by Yuuri's shaft, he's quite exposed. Yuuri looks down on himself, his cock standing to it's full length, the foreskin pulled back and the head glistening with wetness. It's coloured deep, almost angry red. He quickly shifts his gaze to Victor's face. His mouth is slightly ajar and his eyes are downcast to where his hands are gripping Yuuri's hips. Yuuri doesn't know what to make of it, with Victor's expression somewhere between thoughtful and curious. He watches Victor's tongue dart out to moisten the seam of his lips before he swallows and licks his lips again. For some reason this sight causes Yuuri's lower stomach to quiver. It makes his cock jump as well, the moist tip slapping him across his navel. Yuuri finds it amusing, but Victor doesn't laugh. He moans, hiding his face in the crook of Yuuri's neck.

"Ah, ah, Victor!" Yuuri cries as his cock is grasped by a firm hand. There's no teasing this time and the combined sensation of rhythmic pumps and hot strokes of Victor's tongue on his skin reduce Yuuri to pitiful keens. He lifts the hem of the apron to his mouth and bites onto it, hoping to muffle his whimpers. Yuuri uses his hands to steady himself against Victor, the tiniest slide of the man's fingers met with a grunt of approval.

He tries not to claw on Victor's shoulders, shaking helplessly at the sharp enjoyment that washes over him. It pools in him and trickles down his limbs, his toes curling and his body tight as a wound up spring. Yuuri's brain registers what's happening in bright bursts, disconnected and yet making up a grand picture.

Victor's tongue on his neck. Rough, wet and skillful.

His own prolonged moan and his teeth sinking into the cotton of the apron, his tongue poking at the soaked fabric.

Victor's thumb circling his cock head, also damp.

The lightest pressure that results in the white starts dancing on the back of his lids and their sister sparks prickling his skin.

Teeth on his earlobe. Delicate but not for long.

Humid rasps of Victor's breaths, matching his own.

Victor's hair, sliding through his fingers and the weight of his head against Yuuri's palm as he guides him back to his lips.

Vocal acknowledgment of satisfaction as their tongues meet.

Victor indulges him but pulls away after several wicked strokes of his tongue. He does give Yuuri's parted lips a lick, dragging it out across the bottom one but quickly switching his attention to Yuuri's neck. Victor doesn't linger there either. There's a playful dip of his tongue in the dimple at the base of Yuuri's throat. A calmer lick across his collar bone. A curious swipe of his tongue under the strap of the apron.

Victor must be getting distracted. His hand moves more jerkily, gliding over Yuuri's shaft in demanding quick pulls until it pauses for a moment. The resumed pumps are more measured. Victor makes sure his thumb rubs along the underside and beneath the full cock head, detouring to draw meticulous patterns over the tip and spread the collected precum. The change in the rhythm makes it only harder to hold back. With no certainty as to what will come next, Yuuri has no chance to adjust. His body accepts every new sensation with a shiver, hips rocking up to thrust into Victor's fist, albeit with little success.

Yuuri arches when Victor's mouth covers his right nipple. He moans when soft lips close around it, rolling the little nub between them. The apron falls from his mouth, covering Victor's hand in a crumbled bubble but either of them barely notices. Yuuri groans as there is a little suction applied to his nipple and his whole body shudders as the tip of Victor's tongue pokes at it while the suction increases. Yuuri pushes his chest forward aiming to get closer. He throws his head back and it connects to the hanging drawer with a thud.

"You okay?" Victor cradles the back of his head rubbing it sympathetically. "Not the best place for such things, is it?"

"Uhh... It's fine. I'm fine." Yuuri scrunches up his nose. The pulsing pain in his skull isn't that prominent compared to the insistent need for Victor to continue touching him that seems to be engraved into his bones at this point. He worries that Victor has lost his interest due to Yuuri's mishap. His fingers are still curled around his shaft, the light pressure of his loose grip providing a distraction but not helping his arousal. "Can you - um - continue? If that's not too much of a bother."

"What on Earth would give you that idea?" The words sound like Victor is about to pout, but he smiles instead. "Was I..." his thumb moves in a purposefully slow circle around the tip as Victor searches Yuuri's face for a reaction. Yuuri grunts and Victor's pleased grin widens. "- too hasty? I apologise if it gave you..."

"Nngh."

"...an impression that I wanted to be done with it sooner."

"V-vi uhh," is all Yuuri can manage. Victor pushes his foreskin up till it covers the tip. He pinches it over the head, carefully rolling it between his fingers and massaging the glans through it until Yuuri nearly sobs. It's a totally different sensation, somewhat muted compared to a direct touch but Victor uses it to his advantage. The less electrifying contact means that Victor can touch him for longer, until the building pleasure wrecks Yuuri and causes his heart to burst.

"You said you didn't want to be teased. So I obliged you." Yuuri shakes his head, pursing his lips tightly to keep in the moans. "But perhaps it's better to go with how I'd like to?"

Despite the brash words Victor releases him. Slowly, torturously so, his fingertips tap down the rigid length and come down to feel around the sac, lightly drawn against Yuuri's body. The base of Victor's palm presses against the shaft as his fingers explore a bit lower, rubbing the spot behind Yuuri's balls and withdrawing before Yuuri can comprehend whether he likes it.

Victor looks down, although he can hardly see anything other than the wrinkled surface of the apron fly up and settle as he resumes his gradual strokes. Victor doesn't keep his hand steady, sliding his palm up and down the shaft trying to touch as much as possible, to cover or at least pay attention to every part of Yuuri's cock. He twists his wrist at the tip and slightly rotates his hand on the way down.

"V-victor, I c-can't..." Yuuri both feels like he can climax from the long unhurried strokes and that the pleasure is unreachable. Victor quietens him with a kiss, equally slow but deep.

"Sure you can," he replies, his voice warm warm but the raspiness making it sound more like a command. "There, hold onto me."

Yuuri complies, burrowing his face into Victor's neck and keeping his hands locked behind his shoulders. He starts to feel the strain in his muscles from keeping his legs up for so long and having the muscles in his stomach tensing up as the enjoyment washes down on him unexpectedly. He tries to relax and let Victor guide him through it, whatever this 'it' may be.

Yuuri finds he underestimated himself. Where the thrill of Victor's touch and the sensations he coaxes out of him are not blinding, they steadily pool up in him. As his pulse quickens, Yuuri feels Victor's hand become slicker, gliding in the same stubborn rhythm but with increased pleasure.

Yuuri bites his lips, the familiar sensation of approaching orgasm making him fidget as to whether he should give a warning. He doesn't have a chance to utter a sound. Victor's fingertips, damp with collected moisture from the head, rub just underneath it. Over and over, little circular motions just over the taut stripe of skin that connects his shaft to the head. Yuuri's breath is caught in his throat. He clings to Victor, his nails digging into his sweater with enough force to claw through it. His chest burns, and so does his lower stomach, the heat growing and coiling and swirling until it expands enough to consume him.

Yuuri's eyes are screwed shut, the tears pooling and prickling his eyes underneath his lids, unable to get out. He bites onto Victor's sweater as his body shudders, fighting the spasms and the violent twitching in his cock. The first spurt is almost painful in its intensity, but it allows him to breathe again. Yuuri gasps and swallows air, his throat so dry he cannot make a sound. Victor holds him through it with his arm curled around Yuuri's back, keeping him close. His other hand doesn't cease moving even after it's properly soaked and his fist pumps the shaft with a squelch.

It's almost like the life has been drained our of Yuuri as well. His body is deflated, his limbs becoming pliable and limp after his cock stops throbbing with nothing else left to spill.

He watches Victor clean his hand with the apron, avoiding the damp spot where Yuuri's cum soiled it. His mind is too numb to protest when Victor wipes him too and just winces at the fabric feeling rough on his now oversensitive member. Victor tucks him back into his underwear and grips Yuuri under his arms to ease him down. Yuuri's knees wobble and he pretty much hangs on the man, refusing to let go of his neck.

“What are you thinking about?” Yuuri asks, trying to divert the man's attention to something else and help himself recover. Victor does look rather pensive and a bit dreamy.

"Honestly? About how I could make a joke about knocking the ground off your feet but I don't wanna seem like a dick," Victor says smugly as his hands stroke Yuuri's bare sides. "Can you stand? Let's get you out of it."

"I'm fine," Yuuri reassures him and steps back to allow the knot behind his back to be promptly untied and the strap of the apron pulled over his head. Victor tosses it onto the floor.

“Just fine? I hoped it was at least slightly better for you than just fine.” He catches Yuuri's eyes and raises his hands defensively. “Alright, sorry, no more teasing.”

Yuuri can't bring himself to get mad, not when Victor's face is lit up like that with a smile of boyish mischief. He does feel like he ought to do something in return, a good-hearted payback.

Victor catches his had before it comes too close to his pants and Yuuri clenches his jaw. He doesn't want to hear another speech of Victor not being ready. They make him feel selfish and ungrateful, like he's after only one thing.

“Not now.” Well, that is an improvement of sorts. “Let's get you clothed before you get down with a cold.” He catches Yuuri's eyes and repeats his promise more firmly. “Later. There is no rush. But let's not have all the effort you put into cooking go to waste.”

Yuuri sighs but doesn't object. He tries to view it not as a rejection but as Victor's genuine desire to spoil him and the care for his comfort. Yuuri pushes the doubts to the back of his mind and as he returns to the bedroom to pick fresh clothes to wear, tells himself he's not upset about it. Not even one bit.  
  


 


	11. Dancing Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no beta. ~~aaaall byyyy myself...~~

That promise of "later" hangs over Yuuri's head as he picks his dinner. He barely registers the taste, raising a spoonful to his mouth, obligatory chewing the contents, swallowing and repeating. With his mind somewhat clearer now, the worry begins to settle in. It's one thing to act in the moment, Yuuri thinks, and a different one to consciously approach Victor to... to fondle him. It begins to feel like an obligation, something he must do - if Victor follows through and permits it, like he promised. Yuuri feels quite satisfied and with the recent pleasure his own arousal seems like a distant prospect. Not that it may not happen again, but it'll take time. And time means he'll probably begin to fret if he's doing it right, fumble around and end up embarrassing himself. Again.

Yuuri slowly exhales. He notices he crumbled the pie on his plate, turning it into an unappetising mess that has little to do with the original look of the dish. He raises his eyes and catches Victor looking at him, chin propped on his laced fingers. Yuuri hastily wipes his mouth with a napkin in case that was the reason for the man's gentle smile.

"You barely ate any," Victor observes. He had no trouble emptying his plate. "What's the matter?"

What _is_ the matter, really? It's not the overall necessity to keep their affairs behind the closed doors - Yuuri would prefer privacy in any case - and not that Victor didn't let him reciprocate. Well, maybe a little bit, but he made him feel great and Yuuri can't keep a grudge over that. His heart is uneasy for no apparent reason. Perhaps it the way he copes with the change of environment, adapting to the new and unknown by painting a darker picture before he begins to pick up on the positive.

"Nothing."

"Yuuri," Victor says slowly, his voice more stern. "I cannot help it if you don't tell me what it is."

"I don't know what is wrong," Yuuri shrugs. "Probably nothing. I'm just..."

"Unhappy," Victor prompts and Yuuri purses his lips. Yes. And no. Someplace in between. He is not miserable, but... Victor suddenly smiles. "I may just have a great plan to cheer you up."

"Oh? Being..?"

"A secret. I'll keep it as a surprise."

"No, Victor, please, no. I don't like surprises."

"But you're not familiar with _my_ surprises."

"Uh... Why don't you just tell me and we decide how good you are at them."

"Ah-ah," Victor shakes a finger at him, the full force grin and excitement making his eyes shine with glee. "That's no fun if you know the plan beforehand."

"You've already told me you intend to surprise me, which ruins the surprise by itself." Reasoning doesn't help. Victor continues smiling at him, his smirk turning impish. It's quite contagious and Yuuri mirrors it, raising his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, I wouldn't be able to change your mind regardless, would I?"

Victor claps his hands together.

"It's settled, then."

"Uh. I'm already worried."

Victor scoffs and waves his hand dismissively.

"None of that. Now, have you finished?" he points at the unpleasant mash on Yuuri's plate and Yuuri nods. Victor scoops it up, dumping the remains into the garbage bin and putting the dish into the sink. "What do you wanna do this evening?" Victor asks, half-turning his head and raising his voice for it to carry over the hiss of the tap water. "Tea and a movie?"

"As long as it isn't in Russian, I'm game."

"Or we can watch your performances from last year."

"For me to cringe at my mistakes?"

"For me to enjoy how much you have improved."

"Is that what you were doing those two months after you left Japan?"

"...maybe." Victor says it casually, but as he turns his head towards the sink Yuuri notices the tip of his left ear turning pink.

"Well, I'd prefer a movie. Do you need help with those?"

"Nah. You can put the kettle on while I finish here."

Yuuri flips the kettle on and drops a pinch of tea leaves in the pot. He prepares tea and carries the two cups into the living room, sipping from his as Victor makes a fuss about which movie they should watch. He gets sidetracked with his own comments on the films he's seen and loved, letting out excited _oh's_ and occasional _"that's such a good one"_ s. Yuuri tells him to play anything, really.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be bored. We can do something else."

His words hold no suggestion, but Yuuri swallows uneasily, tightening the grip around the handle of his cup. They could, of course, engage in something else, but he cannot tell if he wants to do it or simply feels indebted.

"It's fine, Victor. I don't mind it." Yuuri pats the couch to his left. "Come and sit, before your tea gets cold."

Victor doesn't argue. Yuuri puts his now empty cup onto the coffee table, squirming and tucking his feet underneath himself. He pays the screen no mind, turning to look at Victor cradling the cup in both hands.

"You are not watching," Victor says, without diverting his eyes from the TV.

"I am," Yuuri replies softly, not without a hint of teasing. He wants to add he rather enjoys the sight but he mentally shudders at that sentence and keeps it to himself.

"Hm."

Victor puts away the cup and leans in. His fingers come up to stroke just below Yuuri's hairline. Victor's breath smells of tea and when he slowly touches his tongue to Yuuri's, it tastes of the brew as well. His lips are a hotter than usual, a peculiar side effect of a recent sip of tea he took. The kiss is languid, almost dreamy, Victor's mouth hovering over his instead of pressing, the touches remaining of the finest, weightless glide. Yuuri's heart swells with emotion that rises to his throat. The kiss makes him feel cherished. Fragile, even, as if Victor worried he would dissolve should he grasp him too hard. There is longing Yuuri cannot quite comprehend or put a name too.

The pump of blood in Yuuri's ears has little to do with physical desire. Each careful slide of Victor's lips tugs on his heart, making Yuuri ache for him. He begins to feel the strain in his muscles from stretching his neck and his throat is getting dry. Despite it, Yuuri tries to make the kiss last for as long as possible. When Victor shifts away, Yuuri keeps his eyes closed and his lips parted for several more seconds before the reality pulls him back in.

Victor curls his arm around Yuuri's shoulders, coaxing him closer and tucking him at his side. He puts the volume of the TV down, leaving it as a background noise. His fingers rake through Yuuri's hair, his nails gently scratching the back of Yuuri's head, lulling him into semi-dreaming state.

"Yuuri," Victor calls, stirring him.

"Ah, sorry. I was just... Well, enjoying the moment."

"Is that why you snored?"

"Oh god, I didn't go that, did I?" Yuuri covers his face with his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. "Please say you're teasing me."

"Well..."

"Oh no. I'm so sorry." Yuuri's face is burning up, too hot against his own palms. He wishes he could just disappear or at least become too small to crawl away unnoticed and hide. "On top of everything, now you're stuck with a snorer."

Victor chuckles and presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

"I'm sure I got the most adorable one there was."

"Uh huh, hardly."

"Aw. I should have said nothing. Just enjoyed it for while and then carried you to the bed bridal style."

Yuuri lowers his hands.

"Except that I'm no bride."

"But you blush like one - ow!" Victor rubs his shoulder where Yuuri hit him, scowling too expressively for it to be believable.

"I hope that's not you way of telling me you wanna see me in a dress. Hey!" Yuuri slaps him again after Victor spends several seconds tapping his chin, pretending to be in thought.

"Unfair! I neither confirmed or denied it. I'm an open person and willing to..." Victor dodges another smack. "Okay, okay, alright! No dress for you. But I'm leaving that prospect open on my end."

Yuuri groans but the sound morphs to a goggle when Victor's fingers poke his ribs.

"M-mercy," Yuuri chokes and Victor spares him further tickling assault. Disturbed by his squealing, Makkachin hops to the couch, putting his front paws on the cushions and anxiously shifting on his hind legs.

'Haven't I already shown mercy by leaving you out of my experiments?"

"What experiments?" Yuuri doesn't like the look of that cunning smile. "Victor! What did you mean?"

"Why use words if you can wait and see for yourself?"

"That's exactly what I'm concerned about."

Victor presses the back of his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and leaning back in the most dramatic expression of his hurt over Yuuri's words.

"Come o-on," Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek not to smile. Victor, however, maintains that tragic scowl. He seems to get so consumed by it that his eyes appear slightly moist. "Aw. I'm sure whatever you have in store for me will turn out great. Even if that's you in a dress."

"You're saying that just to please me."

"Mhmm. But it doesn't mean I'm not looking forward to it, even if just the tiniest bit. The surprise. Not the dress part."

Victor's pout vanishes just as quick as it came, the sly lopsided smirk curving his mouth once more. He appears so boyish, so smug about knowing something which Yuuri doesn't that this look alone amuses Yuuri more than the idea of any surprise he may be plotting.

Yuuri curls back at Victor's side and Makka takes a place at the end of the couch with his butt pushed to Yuuri's feet and his head propped on the armrest. Yuuri tries to concentrate on the movie and catch up with the plot. Victor's arm is draped over his shoulders once again and Yuuri can sense him still smiling. He laces his finger's through Victor's, growing quiet just because he can. The events unfolding in the film escape his attention but Yuuri isn't too bothered with it, more than content in a place where he is.

*

The next morning Victor hops out of bed before Yuuri gathers the motivation to even expose his eyes to the deem light of the day. Too sleepy, Yuuri doesn't feel guilty for not stopping him and distracting the man with at least a kiss.

The only unusual thing in their routine occurs when Victor drops Yuuri off after practice (which once again left Yuuri far from satisfied with his performance) and claims to have to pay a visit to his dentist. It's odd but not that significant of an event for Yuuri to be warned in advance so they part with a quick _bye_ and a promise from Yuuri to take Makka out.

Yuuri intends to take a nice long walk with Makka since he never got to explore the area around Victor's apartment, not to mention the city itself. It's slippery; the clear sheen of ice covers the patches of the sidewalk. Yuuri's running shoes help little when Makka tugs on the leash, chasing after a pigeon in a rush of excitement. Yuuri gasps as his feet begin to slide but he regains his balance by throwing his arm out. Seeing him maintain his puppy playfulness is surely great, yet it is inconvenient in this weather. He hates to cut the dog's fun short, but he wishes to remain in one piece and turns around, heading home.

Back in the apartment Yuuri remembers he hasn't spoken with his parents properly. It's well past dinner time in Hasetsu, but still a decent time to call. It feels like he's been in a Russia for so long while he spent barely two weeks here. Yuuri finds that a lot has changed for him, perhaps he himself has changed, but looking back he struggles to find something to tell his parents. His daily schedule is pretty much the same and he hasn't really done anything outstanding or interesting, mostly being absorbed in his emotions and busy trying to figure Victor out.

Well, there have been _some_ exciting things. Yuuri's mind promptly offers him a puzzle of memories. They make him feel warm with a tingle of embarrassment a pleasant sting over how it felt to be touched by Victor in...in that way. But that's not something he could tell his parents. Or share with everyone, frankly.

To his surprise, the conversation goes smoothly. He directs most questions to his mom, but when she asks about how he's going, Yuuri replies with enthusiasm. He does not have to fake it. Once he voices that out,Yuuri realizes he indeed feels excited about his new life if he ceases worrying about his relationship not working out.

Still bubbling with zealousness after he hangs up, Yuuri writes a long message to Mari and sends one to Phichit. On a whim, he texts Yurio, asking him out. The reply comes a quarter an hour later, while Yuuri, still being on a roll, scrolls through Instagram, generously giving likes and leaving comments where he dares, cause honestly, the stuff Chris posts urgently requires censorship. Yurio gives him a list of reasons why he thinks it's difficult for someone with Yuuri's level of intelligence to remember his training times and figure out that not everyone can laze around and stuff their face with food days long. Yuuri scoffs, finding the tone almost apologetic and then snickers when a follow up text suggests Yurio will pick out the time himself and not screw up unlike someone else.

Getting too invested in the life of others over on the Instagram, Yuuri doesn't hear Victor return. He jerks at the sound of the door being shut and the jingle of the keys being put away. He hops up, rushing to meet Victor in the hall.

Yuuri stops abruptly, his mouth falling open as his greeting dies away unspoken. The dark haired man at the door isn't Victor, although he's wearing similar clothes. Makka recognises him through, his tail wagging merrily as he butts his head against the stranger's knee, shamelessly demanding attention.

"Um... Uhh," Yuuri is lost as to how he should address the man. It's obvious that he knows his way around and judging by the fact that he still faces the door and isn't startled by Yuuri's voice, the man is well aware that the apartment isn't deserted. Why would he have a spare set of keys? Is he the landlord who paid a surprise visit, or it's something worse, a person from Victor's past - or present - significant enough to have access to Victor's home? Yuuri shakes at the rush of dread over that idea. It makes him even more nervous, his voice giving away his uneasiness. "Ah, excuse me, m-mister."

Yuuri gasps when the man turns to him. He looks strikingly like Victor in everything but the colour of his hair and brows. Even his eyes appear to be of a familiar shade of blue. The man chuckles as Yuuri keeps gaping at him, his mind racing as he struggles to process what is happening.

"Just the effect I counted on."

"V-victor?"

"Or his twin brother, if you'd like." Victor has the audacity to wink at him.

"What did you do?!" Victor runs his fingers through his hair, alien black and too shiny to be real. Yuuri nurtures the hope it's a wig, but as Victor combs it back, he becomes certain it's not. "Your dentist surely has many talents."

"Well, what do you think?"

"That it's insane."

Victor laughs. The contrast between how familiar it is with the strangeness of Victor's looks makes Yuuri want to double check what his eyes are telling him.

"Don't worry, it washes off."

"Oh?"

"Unless you want me to keep it."

"No!" Yuuri says hastily.

"Aw. Do I look bad?"

"It's not that, just..." Yuuri shrugs and steps forward. "Black hair is so common. And you always stood out." Yuuri pinches the strand of dark hair between his fingers. It feels the same, perhaps even a bit smoother. Victor locks his arms around the small of Yuuri's back as he cards his fingers through Victor's hair a little more bravely.

"Are you sure it'll wash off?"

"Absolutely."

“How soon?"

Victor smiles and puts an end to the string of questions with a kiss. Yuuri responds to it with a caution, the eerie feeling of touching a stranger contradicting what his other senses are telling him.

"That is just so weird," Yuuri confesses, flicking his tongue over his lips. "It feels like I'm kissing your brother."

"I won't tell Victor how wicked you are if you don't."

"Oh god, that's plain wrong."

Victor kisses him again, the exaggerated loud smack echoing through the hall.

"Aha! You call it wrong yet you didn't try to wiggle away. Great. Keep up the spirit, you'll need that attitude where we are going."

"Which is..?"

"Out."

"I figured as much. But it it a costume party or something?"

"Nah. Just a club."

"So... Why the hair?"

"Didn't want to be recognised."

"Victor," Yuuri says with a shake of his head, failing at keeping his voice stern. "Don't you think it's a bit excessive? Dyeing your hair and all for a night out?"

"Of course not. I promised to surprise you..."

"That change in your appearance is quite a surprise, I assure you."

"...and I will." Victor spins him around and gives him a little push. "Let's get you dressed."

"You didn't say where we were going."

"Dancing."

"Just dancing?"

"Yeah."

"But..."

"Yuuri, go throw some proper clothes on. Questions later."

"What's proper?" Yuuri turns over his shoulder trying to catch Victor's gaze.

"Anything you'd be comfortable in."

"So... Pajamas?" he teases. Victor isn't dressed too formally, but his shirt collar over the sweater is impeccably crisp, as if he just put it on. Why it didn't get any extra creases from being worn under the scarf remains a mystery. Not to mention his trousers that never got a speck of dirt on them regardless of the weather.

"If that's what you want, go ahead."

"Re-eally? You'd go out with me wearing pajamas?"

"Why not?"

"Even with all the preparation you did beforehand?"

"Yuuri. I did it purely with intention to take you out and not being pestered with people coming up to me to talk. If you don't want to go, we'll just stay in. If you don't mind going and want to put on pajamas or a bathrobe, I'm fine as long as it makes you feel comfy."

"I was just bluffing. I'll wear something else."

Yuuri quickly changes, picking a plain white shirt and tucking it into his jeans. Victor told him to get comfortable, but he did sacrifice some of it for the sake of looking presentable in a button-up.

Victor calls a taxi yet they still get off to walk several blocks. Yuuri raises the scarf to his nose to preserve some heat as they stroll along the street that looks just like the one before. He doesn't want to keep asking Victor how soon they'll get to their destination, but he does wonder why it was necessary to arrive there by foot.

Victor finally stops at a gray door Yuuri paid no mind and knocks. He talks to a guy who opens it, exchanging several phrases before handing him a slip of a business card to be let in.

"Are you sure it's the right place?" Yuuri asks as they walk through the corridor alone. It seems to be too deserted for a club although there is music coming from the next room. "And what's up with the Bond stuff?"

"Of course I'm sure it's the right place," Victor tugs on Yuuri's coat, helping him out of it, "and the Bond stuff, as you call it, was necessary to get inside. You need a referral."

"What kind of a dance club needs to see your recommendations?"

"I never said it was a dance club. You can dance here but that's not its main purpose."

Yuuri walks into the other room, following the guiding pressure of Victor's palm on the small of his back. He sees a bar in the corner, and leather sofas with several guys nursing their drinks on them and a large empty space in the middle room but it doesn't look like the club he had in mind.

"Yeah I see what you mean. Definitely no one dancing here."

"Wanna be the first?" Victor smiles and pulls him by the hand towards the sofa on the different side of the room.

"Victor!" Yuuri exclaims as he tries to free his fingers from the man's grip with little success. Victor has implied they were not allowed to be touching in public for the reasons of safety if not publicity, so why would he do such a thing? Yuuri shoots the bartender a look but the man cares little, just like other people in the room. What Victor says or does goes unnoticed and Yuuri feels relieved until he sees the shorter guy on the sofa lean over and give the other one a kiss. "Wait a minute... Victor! Did you being me into the gay club?"

"I sure did."

"Whoa. That's just..." Yuuri doesn't know what he expected, but it's all so surreal. "Uh..."

"How about a drink? To get you accustomed?"

"What kind of coach offers his trainee a drink?"

"The one who's about to share it with him. What kind of a student challenges his coach's decisions?"

"A Nikiforov?"

Victor corks his brow, the gesture more impressive when they are black and more defined. He orders two drinks and points for Yuuri to take a seat while he waits for them to be prepared. Yuuri perches himself on the couch, pointedly trying not to ogle the couple to his left. Victor brings two glasses and hands one two Yuuri, putting his own onto the table.

"Don't you want to hold back on that?" Victor asks airily, watching Yuuri chug down half of the glass in one go. "I'll get you something else if you're thirsty."

"The juice is fine," Yuuri replies but slows down, taking a smaller sip.

"That's a screwdriver."

"Oh. Ooh," Yuuri drawls and Victor snickers.

"By all means, enjoy it as you want. I promise to get you home in one piece. And perhaps give you a day off if I feel particularly generous."

"How would I get you you particularly kind then?"

"By enjoying yourself."

"Would what soften you up?"

"On the contrary," Victor smiles at him over the rim of his glass and Yuuri's mouth goes dry. He empties his glass, looking away, but mercifully Victor doesn't exploit the subject and simply offers him to bring another one. This time Yuuri tells himself to be more careful with what he's drinking.

"Should I invite you to dance?" Victor's tone is casual but a shiver runs through Yuuri. He doesn't know if he wants that. The setting is right, with the music low and the lights dim. They probably wouldn't be drawing any attention but Yuuri feels like they'd be crossing the line. Maybe him touching Victor is too intimate for others to witness.

Victor doesn't push him. In fact, he doesn't even look like he's waiting for a reply. He is leaning back, the hand with the glass resting on top of his knee and the other one spread over the dark leather of the cushion. He doesn't look tense or impatient or worried, nothing remotely to how Yuuri feels.

"Later?" Yuuri edges closer, trying to work up the courage to show Victor that at least he appreciates what he's done. It's funny how small tokens of affection would come to him without any prior thought before, yet once he was alerted about that behaviour, Yuuri keeps looking back. "Have you - ah - been here? Before?"

"No, actually. Not in this establishment, nor in a similar one. Not at home, at least."

The emphasis on the last part makes Yuuri guess that Victor has been in places like that abroad. He wants to ask more but then changes his mind, raising a glass to his lips. Maybe he'd rather not know.

"Compliment. From the barman." A man approaches them, sliding two glasses on their table. "And that one is from me," he adds, leaning over Victor and trying to tuck a business card into his breast pocket. Finding none on Victor's chest, he slides the card teasingly down his torso and sticks it into the pocket of Victor's trousers. "Are you new in town? Your English is excellent. Where are you from? Germany? France?"

Victor smiles and shoots a reply in French back at the intruder, fishing out the card and trying to return it.

"Ah, the language of love," the guy coos. Yuuri clenches his jaw, feeling his face heat up. "I've got no idea what you said but I'd not mind you giving me a private lesson in that."

"I said thank you, but I'm not interested," Victor says firmly but with a smile. He finally manages to put the card back into the man's hands, but his own palm gets captured between his.

"Are you certain? Don't say no until you try."

"I'm taken." The confession comes so naturally to him that Yuuri catches the meaning only a moment later and his heart skips a bit.

"Really?"

"Yes, really," Yuuri hisses, clasping Victor's hand and pulling it into his lap. He glares at the man, gritting his teeth until he feels pain shoot through his jaw.

"Huh. I wouldn't think you a couple," the man shrugs but takes a step back. "No hard feelings, okay? Cheers." He salutes them by picking up one of the glasses he brought and finally - finally - letting them be.

"Hey," Victor calls softly, brushing his knuckles on Yuuri's cheek. "I don't mind a little possessiveness but I'd prefer to have my fingers intact."

"Sorry," Yuuri mutters, releasing his grip on Victor's hand. He is still fuming, feeling too hot from his anger with no means to get rid off it. He wasn't going to pick up a fight but maybe that would suit the damn peacock right. Yuuri undoes the buttons at his collar, slowly exhaling through his nose as he tries to calm down.

"If you keep doing that, he'll come back and try to win you over."

"That's not funny, Victor!"

"It wouldn't if you left him for me. Oh come on," Victor huffs, his hand giving Yuuri's shoulder a squeeze. He doesn't try to pull Yuuri into a hug which is quite upsetting. "You can't let that sour up the whole night."

"You are right. Up," Yuuri commands, pulling Victor's hand to make him follow. He takes the glass the man brought, emptying it and setting it back on the table with more force than necessary.

"Okay, now I'm scared," Victor murmurs but stands up, following Yuuri's lead. "What are we doing, exactly?"

"Proving him wrong."

"Ah. What a sound and a perfectly reasonable thing to do."

"Don't tease me." Yuuri drags him to the center of the room. He wraps his arms around Victor's shoulders and adds in a confiding whisper “or I will keep you on the edge for the rest of the night as well.”

Yuuri moves back, struggling to maintain a straight face. He looks at Victor, expecting him to laugh, but he doesn't. He looks tense, his body stiffening under Yuuri's palms. Yuuri smiles, suddenly realizing that it may not be a vague threat for Victor. He tests his theory by rotating his hips, intentionally rubbing against Victor's front. He smiles as the man's breath hitches. He didn't plan it, but once presented with the opportunity...

Yuuri finds his purpose. And that is to have Victor look at him and notice _him_ only. To have his hands on his swaying hips, holding him or guiding him. To thrill Victor and have him gasp and lick his lips and to completely forget the guy with the stupid card ever existed.

The music quickens as if to assist him and Yuuri grins. He does just that, drawing looped eights in the air with his hips, in a teasing proximity that suggests there's more to come. Victor looks surprised, before it morphs into downright hungry. His fingers grasp Yuuri's sides, yanking him closer but Yuuri pushes him away, making a show of walking around Victor before he presses his back against him, sliding down and then slowly dragging himself up, his backside thrust out. Victor grunts and spins him around, his impatience making Yuuri feel rather wicked. He grinds against Victor, subtle enough to pass for an innocent move until he feels the response.

“Oh god,” Victor groans into his ear once the song comes to an end. His chest is heaving, the blush across his cheekbones more prominent than Yuuri remembers it seeing. “Wait a second. Don't move away, I need a shield not to embarrass myself.”

“Mm, there's absolutely nothing you could be ashamed of,” Yuuri sneers, punctuating his words with a meaningful thrust forward.

“Yuuri! You must be drunk.”

“Maybe. How about we go home so _that_ ,” another calculated bump against Victor causes the man to suck in air through his teeth, “doesn't go to waste?”

“You're definitely drunk!”

“Is that a no?”

“It's a yes! Let's get out of here. Now.”

Victor flicks his collar up when they walk out onto the street but doesn’t bother buttoning up his coat all the way past his chest. Yuuri smiles at the brush of cool air on his skin, even though he has to skip to catch up with Victor, who crosses the street against the red light. Victor halts when they reach the end of the block and taps a number into his phone with his thumb. The conversation is brisk and the phone is slid back into the pocket of his coat before Yuuri can catch any of the words.

“I’ve called us a taxi. It shouldn’t be long,” Victor explains, following up with a command. “Zip up.” He takes the loose ends of Yuuri’s scarf and loops them around his neck. “You’ll get cold.”

“What about you?” Yuuri sees the white puffs his breath makes in the air. It’s not as warm as he thought it to be, so he closes his coat, hiding his hands in his coat pockets.

“I’m used to cold nights,” Victor says, shrugging.

“Wasn’t there anyone to keep you warm during those?” Yuuri blurts out and bites his tongue, realizing how provocative his words sound. Victor hums and taps his chin, looking over Yuuri’s shoulder, deep in thought.

“Now that I think of it…” he drawls and Yuuri burrows his head in the collar of his coat in an attempt to hide from the answer to come.

“There indeed was someone keeping me warm between the sheets.” Victor closes his eyes and his face becomes serene, despite being a little fuzzy. Yuuri blinks several times to focus on it and holds his breath not to miss the revelation. His mouth feels bitter, either from all he had to drink or from the bile rising in his throat, driven by jealousy. “Makkachin makes for an excellent foot warmer,” Victor adds with a touch of cheekiness, giving him a meaningful glare. “He’s a true beast in bed.”

“Oooh.” Yuuri doesn’t know how to take it. He raises his head, trying to figure out how much of the truth Victor’s words hold. He battles with himself, the impish side of him not satisfied with the little insight it got. Yuuri wets his parted lips before pushing the conversation further out of the safe zone.

“Just Makkachin and not?..”

“ _And not_ ,” Victor echoes. “For a long time.”

Yuuri steps forward. The street is deserted, the silence of the night not troubled by the rumbling of a passing car or the clatter of hurried steps. He puts his cheek against Victor’s shoulder, his eyes fluttering. The world starts to spin so he quickly opens them with a sigh.

“I know I should be sympathetic, but I feel happy about it,” he confesses. “Does it make me a bad man?”

“The worst, I’m afraid.” Yuuri huffs. “If my reputation is lost, I may as well ask something else.” Yuuri chews his lip. The words scatter away as his mind tries to hold onto them to form a single coherent thought. He steps even closer, gripping Victor’s upper arms for balance. Yuuri lowers his voice to a whisper, his own ragged breath loud in his ears. “How about we go home and... and have sex after our first date? If you like?”

Victor chokes on the words, his eyes so wide that Yuuri can’t help but giggle. Victor opens his mouth right as his phone buzzes and he mutters a spiteful _“fuck”_ under his breath.

“Da?” he rasps irritably and Yuuri releases him, taking a step back. “Da. Okay.” Victor hangs up and runs his hand through his hair. “The driver got lost a bit but should be arriving any moment.”

“Alright. So that means…”

Yuuri is interrupted by a red car pulling up from around the corner of the house.

“Later,” Victor grunts and opens the door. He walks around the front of the carand climbs into the back seat as well. He barks out the address for the driver and pointedly turns to stare out the window.

Yuuri is uncertain whether it’s because Victor is disgusted by his suggestion or he doesn’t want to say anything with another person present. He slouches in the seat a little, looking straight head at the road. He spares a glance to his left from time to time. Victor leans his elbow against the window, the fingers of his left hand plucking at his lip as he frowns. He looks extremely annoyed and Yuuri pretends to accidentally bump his knee against Victor’s. Victor doesn’t jerk his leg away and Yuuri grins when he feels a little push back. Encouraged, he slips his hand onto the faux-leather seat. He pauses, checking if that movement alarmed Victor or the driver. Neither say a word. Yuuri carefully moves his hand to the left, inching closer…and closer still. He hooks his baby finger round Victor’s pinkie. This shared little shake makes him grin like a fool and he feels a ridiculous sort of warmth all over. He catches the driver squinting at him in the mirror and assumes the man is trying to figure out what the source of fun is. Yuuri presses his lips together, which doesn’t help conceal his stupid, broad smile.

The driver snaps at Victor when he tries to point out a turn and they end up taking a longer road. Victor adjusts his coat and pulls it shut. He crosses his arms over his chest. At long last they arrive and Victor shoves a banknote into the driver’s hand and gets out of the car straight away. Yuuri stops to smile and wave at the driver but Victor grabs his hand, practically dragging him into the entrance of the building.

“Victor…” Yuuri watches him fumble with the keys, flipping through them with his thumb to find the correct one. “About what I said…”

Victor groans through his clenched teeth. He pushes the key into the lock, twisting it with a jerk and yanking Yuuri inside. He snaps the door shut and pushes Yuuri against it.

“You really like trying my patience, don’t you?” he asks, his voice thick. Victor smashes his mouth against Yuuri, trapping him against the door with his body. Victor claims his mouth, roughly pushing his tongue against Yuuri’s and muffling the surprised gasp he makes. The kiss is not remotely gentle – it’s heated and wet and insistent, making Yuuri’s head spin and his knees go weak. Victor pulls back just as suddenly, their lips parting with a plop.

“So… you’re not mad?” Yuuri licks his lips.

“Oh god I am. You’re totally driving me insane,” Victor thrusts forward, grinding himself against Yuuri’s hipbone. He’s extremely hard, that much is obvious even through the flaps of his coat. “I think even the bloody driver noticed my raging boner,” he adds.

The kiss is more paced now, the familiar moist slide of the lips aimed to tease and seduce rather than overpower. The gentle swipes of Victor’s tongue on his lips make Yuuri break into goosebumps. He holds onto the lapels of Victors coat, breathing noisily as he gets enchafed with little nips and licks and careful suction. He cannot quite catch the proper rhythm as Victor doesn’t linger on the same spot for long, discovering new sensitive places and drinking the little growls he draws out of Yuuri. His lips are positively throbbing by the time Victor places a final kiss in the corner of his mouth, moving to drag his lips across Yuuri’s jawline and down to his neck.

Yuuri feels too hot, his skin almost sizzling from the rush of arousal and the suffocating heat of his coat. He wiggles to squeeze his hand between them, yanking on the zipper of his coat. Victor helps him push it off his shoulders and quickly shrugs his overcoat off. His arms getstuck in it and he shakes it violently until the coats drops to the floor.

Yuuri’s laughter is cut short with another kiss. He squirms, hooking his leg around Victor’s for better leverage and humping his leg.

“Ah!” he yelps when his neck is bitten right over the collar of his shirt. Victor laps at the spot, soothing the dull ache. Yuuri grips onto him, titling his head to the side for better access. He notices Makkachin patter into the corridor, attracted by the noise. Yuuri goes rigid, instantly uncomfortable.

“Victor, wait,” he pleads, tugging on Victor’s sleeve.

“Was it too much?”

“N-no,” Yuuri leans in, lowing his voice to a whisper. “But Makkachin is there.”

Victor’s peeks over his shoulder and then snaps back to look at Yuuri.

“Yeah, so? Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t feel good about him watching us. It’s wrong.”

“You can’t be serious!” Victor swipes his hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “He’s a _dog_ , I’ve… Oh fine. You go there,” he steps aside and nudges Yuuri in the direction of the living room. “And you,” Victor crouches down, patting his thigh to call the dog to him. “You stay here, alright? And no peeking.”

He scratches behind Makka’s ears and stands up to follow Yuuri. Victor shuts the door tightly behind himself, turning to find Yuuri leaning against the armrest of the couch, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

“Need help with that?”

“You didn’t take your shoes off,” Yuuri scolds, eliciting a grunt from Victor.

“Screw the shoes.”

He takes them off nonetheless, hurriedly stepping over them.

“Mmm, who’s a good boy?” Yuuri praises. He catches Victor by the front of his shirt, yanking the man towards him. The movement is too forceful. Caught by surprise, Victor trips. He bumps into Yuuri, sending him flying backwards onto the couch. Yuuri is able to break the fall somewhat, still holding onto Victor and instinctively clasping his upper arm. Yet the wind is knocked out of him as he bounces off the couch.

“Oww,” he whines, rubbing the back of his head. Perhaps he did have too much to drink.

“Should I kiss it to make it better?” Victor teases.

“Now that you say it, I think there’s another place that hurts more.”

“Oh?” Victor purrs, looming over him with bothhis arms pressed at Yuuri’s sides. “Care to elaborate?”

“Here,” Yuuri taps his lips, struggling to maintain an innocent look.

Victor bends down to kiss him, sucking his bottom lip and worrying it with his teeth. His hair falls down, tickling Yuuri’s face and he can’t help smiling. The grin stretches Yuuri’s lips, which doesn’t allow him respond to the kiss properly. Their teeth bump and he snorts, causing Victor to pull away.

“And here.” Yuuri’s fingers trace a line down his neck and Victor obediently follows the trail, mapping it out with unhurried, open-mouth kisses that end with his tongue dipped in the dimple at the base of Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri sighs, wiggling on the armrest. There’s not enough body contact, but when he tries to pull Victor down on top of him, he resists.

“Vi-icto-or,” Yuuri chants when the buttons of his shirt surrender to the man’s fingers and the little nibbles travel from his neck down to his collarbones. “Are we… are we going to do it?’

“What exactly?” Victor mumbles against his chest, not letting himself be too distracted by talking. “I have so many things in mind.”

“You know. _It_ ,” Yuuri explains, stressing the last word. His shirt is pulled out of his pants and he giggles when Victor’s breath ghosts over his ribs. “What we talked about earlier tonight.”

“Mmm I currently have another plan in mind,” Victor hums, rubbing the tip of his nose around Yuuri’s navel. “And I hope to proceed without further interruptions.”

“Oh good.” Yuuri bites onto his lip when Victor’s hand cups his cock through his trousers, sliding over its length. “Ah! Cause… nnhg… I guess I should, uh, tell you…”

“Yes?” Victor pushes the button of Yuuri’s pants out of the loop. There’s a faint whisper of a zipper being pulled down as the pressure of the fabric on his crotch is eased.

“I don’t think I’m gay.”

“What?” Victor’s head snaps back up. He looks at Yuuri, half undressed, at his own hand over Yuuri’s cock and his mouth falls open. “Excuse me?” Victor appears utterly lost and Yuuri snickers.

“Well…I mean, uh, being gay suggests you like men.”

“Pretty sure it does, yes.”

“I don’t like _men_.” Victor jerks his hands away, as if he is burnt by the touch. Yuuri clasps his hand, not letting him move away. “It’s always been just you, you know? I’ve never been attracted to anyone else.”

Yuuri fidgets, trying to sit up from his contorted position. He refuses to release Victor’s hand. Yuuri turns, throwing his legs over the armrest to sit properly and tugs on Victor’s hand to make him stand in front of him. He gulps when he finds himself facing Victor’s middle, doing his best not to ogle his crotch, but it’s difficult to ignore. He diverts his eyes, looking up at Victor to find his expression switching from shocked to predatory.

“I see.” His hands slide across Yuuri’s chest and down to his middle, his short nails scraping the skin. Victor drops onto his knees and Yuuri instinctively sucks his stomach in ~~,~~ when Victor bends down to follow the marks he left on his belly with his tongue.

“You may have converted me too,” he murmurs, while his fingers sneak under Yuuri’s belt. “Turned me into a Yuuriphile.”

“Oh god,” Yuuri squeaks when the hot hand clasps his cock just through his underwear and Victor moves up and nips on his throat. “That sounds so wrong?”

“Katsuki-maniac?”

“Worse, even.” Victor’s lips make their way down his torso. The tip of Victor’s tongue tickles the skin right over the waistband of his underwear and Yuuri shudders. “Wha… What are you doing?”

“Do you want me to narrate or should I just show you?” Victor purrs.

He lightly shoves Yuuri, making him lean against the couch with his rear at the edge of the seat. He pushes Yuuri’s knees further apart to take the space between them and guides Yuuri to cross his ankles behind his back. Victor hooks his fingers under the waistband of his underwear to lift it up and over, exposing him. Warm fingers close around the base of his cock, raising it unsettlingly close to Victor’s face. Yuuri can feel the warm wash of Victor’s breath on his skin too clearly. Victor looks at him, unperplexed, as if it were some kind of challenge. His fingers tease their way up and along the shaft, and Yuuri exhales sharply, dropping his head back onto the couch.

“Look at me,” Victor demands, stopping until Yuuri collects himself enough to meet his eyes.

Victor holds Yuuri’s stare as he licks up his shaft, making him quiver. He does it again, slow, even licks that stop right before they reach the tip of his cock. It’s embarrassing to watch but also makes Yuuri feel depraved and wicked. He pants, restless, with rasp needy sounds choked out of his throat. Victor presses his arms against Yuuri’s hips, keeping him still.

Yuuri quivers, his body cramping up from the tension. He wants more, he _needs_ more, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it. He doesn’t dare to.

There’s a clear bead of precum forming on the tip of his cock, getting larger as the heat pools within, spreading from his middle to his limbs. His cock twitches and the sticky droplet slides down onto Victor’s fingers. Yuuri bites his lip as Victor’s thumb smears it around.

Victor’s parted lips repeat the movement of his thumb, gliding over the cockhead. Yuuri holds his breath until he gets dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Victor’s mouth closes around the head and Yuuri cries out, nails scratching against the upholstery as he tries to ground himself. The sensation is overwhelming. His toes curl up at the feel of the greedy mouth engulfing him in the warm wet heat. His eyes flutter shut but Yuuri forces them open, watching in disbelief as the top of Victor’s head looms over his crotch.

Victor lets him out of his mouth a little before sucking him deeper in, letting the soft tip hit his palate. He settles for a relaxed rhythm and Yuuri bites his fingers, muffling the whimpers he makes every time Victor’s rough tongue massages the underside of the shaft. Victor’s fingers still hold the base of his cock, providing a nice contrast to the tight wet seal of his lips over the tip.

Yuuri is shaking, the warmth and the light suction working him up to the point where he won’t last another minute. He is desperate for release but also wants it to go on as long as possible.

Victor stops and Yuuri mewls at the loss. The air feels chilly on his cock, which is still wet and glistening with saliva.

Victor looks quite pleased at the sight of him smiling like that, inches away from the swollen cock head, a moment which will most likely be imprinted in Yuuri’s mind forever. With their eyes locked, Victor sticks out his tongue and flicks it just under the head, where the taught foreskin connects to the shaft.

He takes Yuuri’s hand and guides it to the back of his head. Yuuri’s fingers sink into his hair and Victor hums in encouragement, sliding his mouth back on top of his cock. Yuuri feels Victor’s head move, bobbing up and down under his palm. He lets his hand just sit there, carefully threading through Victor’s hair. It’s more of a confirmation that this is really happening than an attempt to control. Yet it makes Victor moan, the sound vibrating through them both and doubles the effort, adding the rhythmic slide of his fingers to the wet glide of his mouth over the shaft.

The strokes get more insistent and Victor plunges his head down. He draws his cheeks in, smoothly taking him deeper than before until the tip of Yuuri’s cock is pressed against the back of Victor’s throat. There is no turning back and Yuuri dissolves in the pleasure, his mouth open in a silent scream and his eyes screwed shut. His body arches, taut as a string, ready to snap at the tiniest pressure. The world explodes into a scattering of blinding white stars dancing on the back of Yuuri’s lids as the pleasure throbs through him. It seems to go on forever but at the same time it’s over too soon, the rush of sheer joy passing through him like a violent storm. Victor tucks him back in, resting his head in his lap. He lets out a long sigh.

“Come up?” Yuuri pats the couch, inviting Victor over. His legs must be cramped and Yuuri feels a faint tug of guilt. Victor gets onto the couch and Yuuri tucks himself at his side.

“I don’t know what, um, the proper code is.” Victor drapes his arm over Yuuri’s shoulders and Yuuri relaxes at the touch. “Erm… Should say ‘thank you’ or?..” He moves his hand down, pausing right over Victor’s belt with his fingers pointed down.

“No need.”

“Why? Victor, are you telling me again that...” Yuuri frowns but then it dawns on him. “Oh. Did you?..”

“Mmhm.”

“I didn’t notice,” Yuuri admits.

“I’ll take it as a complement.”

“Uhh so... I guess... shower and go to bed?”

“Yeah.”

“But next time...”

“Yuuri,” Victor laughs, “stop plotting."

“No. Next time I'll do it my way.”

“That's hardly a competition. And if it were, you've already won.”

Yuuri shakes his head but ceases arguing. Next time will be different. He will prove to Victor that he too can be surprised.

 


End file.
